Punch Line
by Dracheheim
Summary: A chilling story of laughter and madness set in Gotham City. The Joker is locked in Arkham after his shooting of Barbara Gordon and his attempt to drive Jim Gordon insane...but someone in this city is still laughing.
1. Have More Than Thou Showest

**Author's Note**: This is my first big work, so we'll see how it turns out.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the _Batman_ franchise or any related characters. I do own Jake Katoves, Erica Nives, and the corpses in this chapter.

* * *

_I heard this great joke the other day. I can't remember who told it to me, but it doesn't matter. Trust me, you'll love it._

_Okay, so there were these four people sitting around a table..._

It was dark in the warehouse; except for one crazily swinging bulb, there were no sources of light. Through the darkness, however, one could see four people seated beneath the lamp.

"Where the hell is he?" a voice demanded. "Couldn't he at least have the decency to be here when we arrive?"

"Did you really expect him to be so kind?" inquired a second voice in a monotone. "You should know better by now. After all these years working in this city…" As the sun began to rise, light trickled in through the windows, slowly illuminating the scene. Five chairs were visible, but one was unoccupied. The remaining four seats held a woman and three men.

The owner of the first voice cleared his throat. "Do we have any idea what he wants…I mean, why here? Hell, does he even want anything? I mean some of the guys in this town…"

"I think he wants something. As unusual as some of Gotham's denizens may be, they all want something."

"Except for one…"

"Yes, except for one." The light grew steadily brighter; at the table, the chairs' occupants became more visible. One of the men seemed to be dressed in an expensive suit, while right next to him sat a man in rags and tatters. Sitting next to the man in rags was a man in a police officer's uniform, who appeared to be pointing at the man in the suit. The woman, who was sitting next to the officer, appeared to be leaning towards him. In front of each of them was a small, dainty cup.

"Well…" said the first speaker, who must have been thinking about it for some time, "I hope to Christ that it's not him. But that does beg the question…who are we dealing with? If anything, it looks like him, but…"

"It's not. He's still in Arkham. I checked earlier this evening." The sun was well up by now. Many of the shadows in the warehouse had vanished, leaving behind the four figures. The woman had her hand shoved in the officer's crotch. The officer had one hand on the woman's knee and one hand clutching a gun, which he held pointed towards the man in the suit. The man in rags clutched a whisky bottle. The man in the suit gripped the neck of the man in rags. Each had a napkin in his or her lap and each sat in front of a cup of tea.

All four of them were dead and each had a rictus plastered on his or her face. In the unoccupied chair, which resembled a throne, was a jester's cap.

The police began to process the scene, working slowly and methodically. Jim Gordon sipped his coffee and spoke to the shadow to his right.  
"It does look like the Joker's work, though. Are you sure he doesn't have a decoy like—"

"He doesn't, Jim," Batman replied. "I told you, I went into his cell and made sure that he was still in Arkham. He's still there."

"This time, he is. I remember the last time that he got out." Gordon shivered, despite his steaming coffee and his warm trench coat. "I hate him. I didn't before…I tried to understand that he was incurably insane. But now? I want to kill him. Every time that Barbara wheels by, I want to grab that white-faced bastard by the throat and squeeze until he stops laughing." Gotham's police began to clean up the crime scene and Sergeant Bullock walked over to where Gordon and Batman were standing.

"We're done here, Commissioner. We're ready to send the corpses to the morgue and a sample of the toxin to the lab…not that we'll get the sample back this month." Bullock spat onto the ground.

"What will delay the sample?" Batman asked. "If this is the work of the Joker or anyone connected to him, we need an answer now. Give it priority and get it done before any other samples."

"Oh, that's not the problem," Bullock replied cheerily as he lit a cigar. "I can do that for you, Bat. No problem. However…ever since we hired the new guy, things have been a bit…slow."

"You see," Gordon interjected, "we just can't hold onto anyone. This is Gotham City, where the motto is 'You Might Not Be Killed.' Anybody intelligent enough to be in a lab applies for a transfer as soon as possible. This new boy, Jake…he's slow, but he's a genius. Hell, he even has a grant from the Wayne Foundation. He likes it here, and that's more than I can say for any lab workers we've had before."

"Let me take the sample to him," Batman growled, "and I'll see if I can encourage him to be a bit faster."

"Why not?" Gordon shrugged. "It certainly can't slow him down."

* * *

In his sterile lab, Jake was hard at work. With "Fantasia in Greensleeves" playing on his lab's speaker system, he was seated at his computer, diligently pretending to work. Sure, he'd get around to some of those samples eventually, but he needed time to relax, time to decompress… 

Then the Batman came through his door. Jake leapt out of his chair, surreptitiously turning off the music before he did so, and stumbled over to the hero.

"Batman! It's such an honor," Jake gushed. "I'm Jake Katoves, sir…I looked up to you as a child! I admire your protection of Gotham, your zeal in apprehending those dastardly—"

"If you admire my zeal, surely you wouldn't mind analyzing these samples with similar zeal? I want the report…and I want it soon."

"Oh, certainly! Certainly, certainly! But, of course, these things do take time. You have to understand what kinds of tests I have to—"

"I do understand, Mr. Katoves. I know exactly what it is like. I have my own lab and my own computer. I'm going to run the tests myself, but the Gotham Police Department needs their own tests on file. I'm going to run the tests myself, and if you are not done when I am, I will be very, very cross. Do you understand me?" Batman turned to leave. "You would do well," he advised, "to remember that each second that you waste is another second that this madman is loose." With those ominous words, the crime-fighter left.

Jake stared after Batman, then turned back to his computer, grumbling. He turned the music back on and Pachelbel's Canon in D Major poured out of the speakers. Looking at his watch, Jake pulled a pack of cards out of his pocket. "There's plenty of time for analysis later," he said as he set up a game of Solitaire. "They're always pushing, pushing! I need time to relax…they don't understand. Heh, that doesn't matter, though. I'm the one with a Wayne Foundation grant."

As Jake began to play, the doors opened again. Batman shot over to the chair and picked the scientist up by the neck. "When I said that I wanted it done quickly," the hero growled, "I meant that I wanted it done now. When we catch the killer, there will be time for card games. Until then…you work! So analyze the goddamn toxin!" The Caped Crusader stalked back out. Jake stared after him, rubbing his throat.

* * *

It was cold in the morgue, but then again, Dr. Nives was the only one to notice. None of the others were in any state to care. Carefully, she analyzed the woman from the crime scene, taking notes in a yellow legal pad. 

The doors opened. Without turning, Nives greeted her guest. "Hello, Batman."

"Erica. What can you tell me about the bodies?"

Dr. Nives pointed to the woman. "Well, her name is Sheila Sanford, aged twenty-five. She was a prostitute." She pointed to the corpses of three men, wheeled against the wall. "Those three are Officer James Geant, who went missing three days ago, the businessman Sam Petroit, who disappeared two nights ago, and a John Doe. None of them died at the crime scene, though they were well-preserved until being…displayed. I assume that all four have the same toxicology, but I can't be sure until Katoves gets off of his ass and tells me." She wheeled over to a desk. "I suspect that this case is related to two earlier ones."

"Earlier ones?"

"A few weeks ago, we found five bodies arranged in a movie theatre. The facial stimulation caused by the toxin was less advanced, but it was the same sort of situation. A few weeks before that, we had three bodies in a car. Those three had no chemically-caused facial stimulation…instead, they had Glasgow smiles."

The Dark Knight grimaced. "Gruesome."

"That was my reaction. This seems like the Joker, but I'd put my money on a Joker copycat. The cases show increasing sophistication, implying that someone was perfecting his method. I wish that Katoves would hurry up with those toxicology reports so that I could be sure."

"The idea of a Joker copycat is disturbing. It means that at least two men are as mad as he is. As for the second matter, I've seen to Katoves."

"Well, I'm sure that the arrogant bastard loved it. Anything else I can do for you?"

"Not today, Erica. Thank you."

Dr. Nives turned to tell him not to mention it, but the hero was already gone.

* * *

Riiiiiing. Riiiiing. 

"Oh, damn it." The woman left her stove, where a large fish simmered in butter. Making her way between the milk saucers, she reached the phone.

"Hello?" she answered, shooing a cat away from the cord.

"Selina…it's Bruce."

"What? Bruce? Look, I haven't done anything. I've been clean…I haven't even taken it out of the closet since last time…"

"Selina, I'm not calling about Catwoman."

"Oh…oh, thank God."

"I'll get to the point. Someone appears to be imitating the Joker. I know that you have connections to the underworld, so…I'd like you to listen. Nothing dangerous, just keeping your ear to the ground. If this guy is really as crazy as the Joker, he could be just as dangerous to criminals as to innocents. He might end up targeting…extra-normal personalities. I don't want you to lose one of your nine lives."

"All right, that makes sense, Bruce…Bruce?"

Click. He had already hung up. Selina Kyle sighed, then went back to cooking her fish.

* * *

Jim Gordon sat at a table, flipping through a scrapbook. In the bookcase next to him, titles such as "CATWOMAN," "PENGUIN," and "RIDDLER" stared back at him. As he flipped through his current selection, the fingers of his left hand played over the title on the spine. 

"JOKER."

Barbara wheeled in, pushing through the swinging door. Still unused to her wheelchair, she slowly maneuvered her way over to the table.

"Dad? What are you…oh. Is that the Joker book?"

"Yes, Barbara."

"Well, could you please put it away? You know how much I hate that one…I can't stand to see it now." As she said this, she absentmindedly rubbed the bandage on her left side. Jim sighed, then closed the book.

"I know how much you hate it, but…"

"But what?" Barbara stared at her father, trying to glean some knowledge from his expression. "Oh God…is he…lose?" Jim shook his head.

"No, no…we checked. We ran all of the tests. He's still in Arkham. But…someone seems to be copying his MO. There have been three cases now…we're not sure if they're linked, but I think that they are. It's his style, smiling corpses, but the smiles are getting more advanced."

"Is it Harley? Is she doing this for him while he's in Arkham?"

"No…we have eyes on her. She's clean. I'm afraid that it's some new maniac, and that frightens the hell out of me." The teakettle began to whistle, and Barbara began to wheel back into the kitchen. Jim stood and stopped her. "Don't worry, Barbara. I'll get it. You…you just wait…I'll bring you your tea."

As Jim Gordon walked away from his daughter, the daughter that the Joker had crippled, he began to cry to himself.

* * *

The apartment was dark and silent. There was a scrabbling at the lock, and a man entered. 

"Honey?" he called as he turned on the lights. "Jane? It's Sam. I'm home…" There was no response. Sam looked troubled.

"Jane?" he called as he moved into the bedroom. "Jane, are you in here?"

Jingle.

"Jane, is that…oh, God!" Sam stumbled away from the man who stood before him. The man began to laugh.

"God? As that riotous Voltaire told us, 'God is a comedian playing to an audience that is afraid to laugh.' So turn that frown upside-down and enjoy the show!" The man laughed again. Sam tried to scramble away, but he felt something jab into his arm. Everything began to swim before him, and he grinned.

He snickered. He guffawed.

Sam sat there on the ground, terrified out of his mind by the spectre in front of him, and he laughed. He wanted to stop, but he couldn't. He couldn't breathe. The laughter turned into cackling shrieks of mirth. Sam was more frightened than he could imagine possible, so scared that he wanted to cry, but he laughed.

Sam couldn't breathe, and he felt like his grin was tearing his face in half.

* * *

Well, I think that was an interesting first chapter...we'll see what happens. 

Live long and prosper.

Dracheheim


	2. Speak Less Than Thou Knowest

**Author's Note:** I would like to take this opportunity to point something out. If my writing seems to be based on dialog, with most of the description at the beginning of a scene...here's the reason. While I'm writing this, I'm visualizing it as a graphic novel. Nerdy as hell, I know.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the _Batman_ franchise or any related characters. I do not own Poulenc or his waltzes, though I do play them. I do not own the playing card franchise. I _do_ own the two verses that the Joker sings. I also own "I Dunno" Jack Downs and "Murmuring" Max Bracks.

* * *

The man smiled as he played the piano; his audience was riveted by his rendition of one of Poulenc's waltzes. An entire concert hall was focused on him alone, so why not grin? 

As he finished the first ending and began the repetition, the smiling man thought that he heard footsteps. _Probably one of the other performers moving around backstage,_ he thought to himself. Ignoring the sound, he started on the second ending. Then he heard another noise, a grinding and creaking that was disconcertingly nearby. The pianist surreptitiously looked up, wondering if some machinery was being prepared for a following performer. _It's nothing,_ he told himself. _As soon as I'm finished, I'll find out that it was some small maintenance task._

Then the door opened. A huge, steel monstrosity, it swung slowly inwards, creaking and screeching the entire time. The leading edge swept through the end of the grand piano and the illusion was destroyed. The smiling man was no longer seated at a piano in a massive concert hall; instead, he was seated at a steel table that was bolted to the floor in a cramped and dingy cell. He was in the Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane.

His visitor looked around the cell distastefully. It was grimy and unorganized, true, but many of the inmates' cells could be described as such. What made this cell different from the thousands of other cells with rumbled beds and rats was the visible nature of its inhabitant's madness. Nearly every flat surface was decorated. The walls were covered in deranged scrawl that appeared to a song about being "loo-ooo-oony." The table was covered in drawings and doodles except for the side at which the inmate sat, where piano keys had been gouged into the surface. Even the rats were not normal. The visitor peered at them, trying to figure out what seemed wrong about them, as he sat down opposite the denizen of the cell.

"I came to talk," he stated bluntly. This explanation seemed somehow funny to the madman, who began to laugh madly. As he waited for his companion to regain his composure, the visitor continued to analyze the rats. Finally, he realized what was unusual about them: each rat's mouth had been cut at the edges, giving it the appearance of a mad, cackling grin. Noticing a lengthening pause between chuckles, he looked up at the cell's occupant.

"Heh…that's all I ever hear from you, isn't it?" the smiling man asked, barely able to contain his mirth. "That's all you ever say to me…that we need to talk. Well, what about my end of the relationship? Eh? _You_ always need to talk to me, but do _I_ ever get the chance to talk? No! You never even consider my needs…and there are two people in this relationship!"

"What…what are you talking about?"

"I'm not just here to cook and clean for you! I am my own person and I will not let you just walk all over me! I'm not just here to cook and clean for you! I'm not your slave, Bats!"

"What in the…" But Batman would not be receiving an answer. The last utterance had been too much, and his companion once again collapsed into paroxysms of mirthful cackling. The crime fighter waited impatiently as the white-faced criminal whooped and giggled for all that he was worth.

"Are you quite finished?" Batman growled, gritting his teeth. The Joker waggled his hand from side to side.

"Eh. For now."

"Good. I came to…" he paused. "No, I'm not going through that again. Something important is going down…something concerning you."

"Me? I'm touched!" The Joker began to laugh again. "Did you buy me a cake? I believe that it's my six-month anniversary with Barbara Gordon!" Batman leapt out of his chair and pounded his fist against the table. The comment about Barbara had driven him over the edge.

"This isn't a_joke_, you twisted bastard! This is something truly important, a matter of life or death!" The threat, if anything, only heightened the Joker's mirth.

"Life or death, eh?" the clown asked flippantly. "Well, I'm quite tired of life at this point. It isn't always funny enough for my taste. So, I don't like that option. On the other hand, death is hardly more attractive. I've seen plenty of corpses and only the ones that I make seem to be enjoying themselves. Besides, there aren't any comedy clubs that host cadavers. So, what's your third option?" The Joker gestured at the cell door. "What's behind door number three?" His game-show host demeanor cracked on the word _three_ and he erupted in a fit of giggles.

"There is no third option, Joker. Either you help me or you die." The Joker paused in his laughter and closely scrutinized Batman's face.

"_Help_ you? Are you…you must be! Oh, I feel so alive! I've finally gotten the granite-faced Batman to make a joke!" His laughter this time was truly mad, surpassing his previous outbursts in both volume and intensity. The wild whoops and maddening screeches echoed through Arkham's halls as the Joker fell out of his seat in Batman-inspired mirth. Batman walked over to the prostrate clown and pulled him up by his orange jumpsuit.

"This isn't a joke!" the Caped Crusader yelled at the Clown Prince of Crime. "You will help me."

"My God, you're serious?" gasped the Joker through his remaining giggles. "Help you? Why would I help you? Is something being stolen? Are people dying?"

"Yes. People are dying." The manic look faded from the Joker's eyes.

"Well, that…that changes everything. People dying…" The Joker hunched over and his shoulders began to shake.

"Joker, are you…?" Then Batman realized that the Joker was not crying, but laughing.

"You are a laugh _riot_ today, Bats! So what if people are dying? Hell, if I wasn't locked in here, I would probably be killing them myself, not helping _you_! And you say that this isn't a joke…how many times do I have to drill it into your head that everything is a joke? I thought that I had reached you at my fairground six months ago…but apparently not! It's all a joke, you furry bird…and you and I are the punch line!"

"It's not a joke…and you _will_ help me, even if it means that I have to deal with your sick humor." The Joker shook his head at this declaration.

"Putting aside how wrong you are about the jocular nature of the world, what makes you think that I'm going to help you? You have foiled my plots before, so why would I feel inclined to aid your cause?" Batman glared at the slender figure before him and tightened his fists.

"If you don't help me…I'll kill you. God knows that Gordon would be happy to see you go. He'd hide it away in the paperwork and call your death a suicide."

"Oh, come now," the Joker admonished, patting Batman's hand, "you wouldn't kill me. You can't. You _need_ me. You need me as a reminder." The Joker adopted a scholarly look. "You see, my finely furred friend, you are just as crazy as I am. You just refuse to admit it to yourself, even though you know it in your heart of hearts. So you need me to remind you of what not to be. You need me to remind you of the extremes of madness to prevent you from completely disintegrating." As the Joker spoke, Batman felt as though he had been punched in the stomach. He knew that it was true. Every word that this madman was saying was completely and utterly true.

"And most importantly," the Joker declared as he stood and pointed his finger into the air dramatically, "you need me…to make you laugh!" With those last words, he collapsed back into one of his characteristic laughing fits. After a few minutes, he stopped and composed himself.

"Excuse me for a moment, Bats. My audience is getting restless." With that enigmatic statement, the Joker began to play the "keys" gouged into the table. A faraway look came into his eyes as he began to hum a bouncy tune. Batman watched in puzzlement as the Joker burst into song.

"If you find yourself gone mad,

And it truly is not that bad,

Look around and recognize the show!

From when you drew your first breath

To your dull and pointless death,

Just keep them laughing as you go!

Like me, you're—"

Batman pounded the table once more. "Damn it, Joker, this is no time for a song and dance!"

"But Bats…I wasn't dancing. I was just singing!"

"Forget your songs, you twisted maniac! You can help me! This new guy…he's as crazy as you are! He's copying your style and leaving smiling corpses…"

"Oooh, a fan! Where would I be without the adoring masses? Why, I still remember my first meeting with Harley…speaking of that girl, I wonder how she is? I miss beating her to a pulp. Maybe after my next escape…"

"You won't escape, Joker. Not again…not after the last time. You're under maximum security now. Every exit is guarded…even the ventilation shafts are guarded. It's foolproof."

"Oh, Bats," the Joker sighed, "you do tend to underestimate fools. Haven't you ever seen any of Shakespeare's plays? The fools are the only ones who know what's going on. They're the only ones who can get away with anything. Fools are clever, Batman, and they _always_ get the last laugh." The Joker paused, reconsidering his last point. "Well, no. Fools don't always get the last laugh. For example, in Shakespeare's funniest play, the fool just disappears after a while."

Despite his frustration, Batman was curious. "What do you think his funniest play is?"

"_King Lear_."

"You're insane, Joker."

"Yet you're the one dressed like a flying rat. I only look like this because of you, dear Bats." Batman sighed, then walked towards the door.

"I guess that you're not going to help, are you? There's no way that I can convince you to have some human decency."

"Nope," said the Joker, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes, "there isn't. Toodles."

Batman paused at the door. "You know, though, he has done amazing things with…_your_ venom formula.

One of the Joker's eyes shot open. "…_my_ formula?"

"Oh, yes. He has improved it quite thoroughly…it's superior to anything you ever used."

Both of the Joker's eyes were now wide open. "_Improved? Superior?_"

"Oh, undoubtedly. And the things he does with the bodies…the man's completely hysterical. He's much funnier that you have ever been.

The Joker shot out of his chair. "_WHAT?_" The Clown Prince of Crime darted to the door, slammed it, and then turned to face Batman. "Oh, no. You're not leaving. _Nobody is funnier than the Joker, do you hear me? Nobody! And nobody uses MY venom but me!_" The Joker marched Batman back to the table and threw him down into a chair. "I'm going to catch this…this _bastard_, and you're going to help me, whether you want to or not! So tell me all about this imposter, you blasted avian mammal!"

Batman allowed himself a small grin at the Joker's expense. Seeing the clown in such a wild-eyed frenzy was, the crime fighter had to admit, quite funny. Usually, the Joker kept his composure even in the middle of mass murder. "Well, the only thing that he's given us is a jester cap that he left at the last scene. The police have started calling him 'The Jester.'"

The Joker snorted. "At least he has enough common sense not to call himself by my name."

"Er, yes. The first crime that we've attributed to him was last month. Three bodies were found in a car. He hadn't started using Joker venom by that point. Instead," and here Batman found himself looking at the rats, "he cut their faces into smiles."

"Ah, Chelsea grins."

"Yes. The next case was a few weeks later. Five bodies were in a movie theatre, watching Paul Leni's adaptation of _The Man Who Laughs_. This time, he used a Joker venom to cause the bodies to grin."

"You know," the Joker said thoughtfully, "no matter how many times I watch that movie, it never fails to bring a smile to my face."

"I, uh, I see. At about four o'clock this morning, the police and I found four bodies having a tea party. The venom this time was more potent and the smiles were, to say the least, disturbingly advanced. It was at this scene that we found the jester hat."

"I see." The Joker appeared to lose himself in thought. After five minutes of waiting, Batman cleared his throat.

"Well, uh…can you tell me anything?"

"Yes, I certainly can!" the Joker exclaimed triumphantly. "Pardon my enthusiasm, but I just figured it out!"

"Yes?" Batman leaned forward, eagerly. This was amazing.

"Well, you see…" the Joker smiled slyly, "it all makes sense. It's the only explanation, really." He took a deep breath. "The phrase 'punch line' obviously comes from the 'Punch' character in 'Punch and Judy' shows," the clown cried joyously.

Batman blinked. Had that just happened? "No, Joker. I meant…can you tell me anything about the Jester?"

"Oh, that's simple," the Joker said, waving his hand, "and much less interesting than my 'punch line' revelation. The _Jester_," the clown spat, "is just starting out. These first three crimes were his way of developing and testing his—_my_ venom. They're experiments. I'm willing to bet that the victims were pulled off of the street, yes?"

"They were."

"Well, that just goes to prove my theory. Now that his formula is perfected—though, of course, it's not as good as mine—he'll start taking people from their homes." The Joker paused. "Or he might keep taking them off of the street. It depends on what kind of mood he's in. Either way, he'll definitely start taking people more frequently. The deaths may lead up to something big…" The clown's eyes began to blaze. "Maybe…of course! I'll escape, kill the bastard, and take his place! Then I'll commit his big caper—after creating the necessary improvements—and prove myself to be his better!"

"Um…"

"Of course! What other way is there to prove my superiority?"

Batman thought quickly. _Two_ crazed clowns on his streets, battling for dominance? The thought was not a pleasant one. "I have a better idea, Joker. You see, if you tried that, you might defeat him through _luck_, not superior skill. If you help me take him down, you'll prove that you have a better mind. Think of it as a chess game. Gotham City is the board and I am your most powerful piece."

The Joker cackled. "Does that mean that you're my queen?"

Batman groaned. He had walked right into that one. "Well…for the purposes of the metaphor, yes. Now, is there any pattern that the Jester is likely to follow?"

Shrugging his shoulders, the Joker reached to the middle of his table and picked up a deck of cards. "Well," he drawled as he set up a complicated-looking game, "that depends on what he does." As the Joker started to play, Batman noticed that the deck was a custom one. He would have to have a word with the guards about not letting a psychotic madman bring in his own sources of entertainment. "If this…_Jester_ is taking people from his homes, he'll start small and work his way up to the big guns. People like Bruce Wayne and Lucius Fox won't be in trouble for quite a while." _Flip._ "However, if he's pulling people off of the street, he'll start wherever the hell he feels like." _Flip._ "But I have nothing else for you now, Bats." _Flip._ "Bring me more information as soon as you have it." _Flip._ "I want to beat this bastard." _Flip._ As Batman began to walk out of the cell, the Joker looked up from his cards and called after him. "Oh, and Bats? Check on Harley. Make sure that she isn't getting too lazy without her regular beatings."

"All right, Joker. I'll come back as soon as I have anything." Batman left the cell.

The Joker continued with his game. _Flip._ The King of Hearts, complete with Batman's face, came up on one of the piles. With barely suppressed glee, the Joker removed it from the pile and the game with a Joker card. "You should always remember," he laughed to himself, "that, no matter what game you are playing…no mater who your opponent is…Jokers are _always_ wild!"

* * *

As he sat in front of his supercomputer, running the last chemical test on the venom sample, Batman removed his cowl. Bruce Wayne, bored millionaire of Gotham City, gazed at the screen. The results showed the normal Joker venom formula, mixed in with high levels of nitrous oxide, low levels of cyanide, and a trace amount of…fear toxin? Bruce scowled. _Is the Scarecrow involved in this?_ he wondered. _This doesn't seem like his style, though…_

His ruminations were cut short by a ringing from the telephone line linked to Wayne Manor. He stalked to the phone and answered it.

"Alfred."

"Master Bruce," his retainer replied, "Miss Kyle has called and requests to speak with you immediately. When I told her that you were busy, she informed me that she has information regarding your current investigation. Shall I connect you?"

"Yes. Thank you, Alfred." The elderly butler was replaced by the slightly worried-sounding Selina Kyle.

"Bruce…it's Selina."

"You called about…"

"Yes. I opened my ears for you…and it seems that you were right."

"Thanks. What have you learned?"

"Well, more than I expected to." On the other end of the line, Selina took a deep breath. Bruce noticed an odd tone to her voice. Had she been crying about something? "I started small, with 'I Dunno' Jack Downs and 'Murmuring' Max Bracks. I know that you've used them before, so I'm fine with telling you their names. Neither Downs nor Bracks had any news. I worked my way up the grapevine, asking fairly innocent questions. Nobody had anything. As you said, the Joker's still in Arkham. People thought that I was crazy to be asking about him. However, I finally got something. From a crooked shipper in the chemical industry, I learned that somebody—he didn't know who—has been buying all kinds of chemicals. Strange and unusual compounds. Stuff like…"

"Stuff like the Joker uses?"

"Oh, yeah. And more. According to the shipper, he basically got the combined grocery list of the Joker and Scarecrow. There were a few other things, like nitrous oxide and cyanide, but most of the list was stuff that he's used to smuggling. Hang on, I have a call on the other line."

Selina switched lines, giving Bruce time to think. If the Scarecrow was involved in this, it might be more dangerous than he had thought. But…the Scarecrow had worked with the Joker before. He knew how crazy the clown could be, so why risk provoking him with imitation? Bruce grunted to himself. This was more complicated than he would have liked it to be.

Once again, his theorizing was interrupted by the phone. On the other end, Selina Kyle came back on, breathing deeply. "Oh, shit, Bruce. This just got very, very big."

"What? What happened?"

"The other call…it was one of my contacts. He apologized for not calling sooner, but he had been…detained. Harley Quinn was kidnapped earlier today. The guy who did it…he calls himself 'The Jester' and claims to be the Joker's replacement." Bruce cursed to himself. That settled it…Gotham had a new madman. As usual, he reflected, the villain had as much originality when it came to naming himself as the Gotham Police Force. "He killed some undercover cops who were watching Harley…he used some form of Joker venom. But…something was different about it."

"What was different?"

"I don't know…my contact couldn't say."

"Give me his name. I'll find out."

Selina laughed. "Give you…? Do you really want me to tell you? Do you think that I'll be of any more use to you if you do? If I told you his name, I would have no reputation in this town. 'Catwoman,' they would say, 'is a low-down traitor. She works for the Bat!' Hell, do you think that I'll have a life expectancy of over a week if I tell you?"

"You're right," Bruce conceded, "as usual. But…what do you make of this kidnapping? Do you think that the Joker is in on this…from behind bars? He mentioned something about Harley when I visited him earlier."

"No," Selina asserted, "it's not the Joker. If it were the Joker, we would know. He would broadcast his involvement up and down the underworld. The Joker wants everyone to know when he's involved…he wants _you_ to know when he's involved. He likes matching himself against you."

"Oh, well," Bruce sighed, "I guess that's just wishful thinking. It would be so much simpler if he was the one behind this. Do you have anything else?"

"Not yet, but I'll tell you once I learn anything new."

"Thank you." He began to hang up the phone.

"Bruce?" Selina called.

"Yes?" On the other end, there was a pause.

"…never mind. Good night." Click.

Bruce hung up the phone. Turning back to his computer, he began a full-system scan for files pertaining to the Scarecrow or to Harley Quinn. While the files were being retrieved, he opened a list of chemical shippers in the Gotham area.

_It's going to be a long day_, he thought to himself.

* * *

Yeah, so...this one only takes place in two locations, not counting the concert hall that the Joker hallucinates. The conversations are longer and more involved. After reading Chapter I: Murder in Chiaroscuro, I felt that it was...not exactly rushed, but too fast. So I attempted to slow it down a bit. 

Live long and prosper.

Dracheheim


	3. Lend Less Than Thou Owest

**Author's Note**: No fun Joker dialog today, people. I'm sorry, but I just can't. I stayed up until about three in the morning last night reading _Emperor Joker_, _Arkham Asylum: A Serious House on Serious Earth_, and _The Dark Knight Returns_, so I'm a bit Joker-ed out at the moment. Plus, he just didn't fit into the plot of this chapter.

**Dedication**: Dedicated to D. Serkan, who prevented me from saying, "Eh, screw it. I'll just write one tomorrow."

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the _Batman_ franchise or any related characters. I _do_ own Dr. Katoves, the Jester and the two bodies…who are, by the way, Sam and Jane.

* * *

Batman stood before the old, moldering warehouse and wondered why Gotham's criminals always used waterfront warehouses. According to Selina's chemical-shipping contact, this was the location to which all of the stolen chemicals had been delivered, but it seemed devoid of any life. No lights were on inside of the stony façade and no sounds could be heard. _Perhaps,_ Batman thought, _the "Jester" is out at the moment…but that's hardly a comforting thought. Maybe he's out picking up more chemicals. Chemicals. Hmm. I still haven't heard back from Dr. Katoves about the toxicology reports. I'll have to check in on him after I finish up here._

After checking that no alarm systems were activated, Batman picked the lock on the warehouse doors and slowly slipped in. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he began to hear unsteady breathing. Suddenly, a gangly specter tackled him.

"NO!" the scrawny apparition screamed. "DON'T OPEN THE DOORS! CLOSE THEM! CLOSE THEM NOW!" He screamed again and slammed the huge doors with a strength that one would not have expected in such a slight frame. "Don't…don't open the doors. If the doors are open, they'll come in. They'll come in…" he panted. He reached over and locked the doors, then collapsed in a heap. "Oh…oh, thank God. They…they almost got in," he wheezed. "They almost got to me. They would have…have torn me apart." Batman looked at the poor wretch in puzzlement.

"Who would have come in? Who would have torn you apart? Who is it that you're so afraid of?" the crime fighter inquired. The lanky man giggled mirthlessly, a high-pitched keening that erupted into a fit of coughing. He shivered.

"It's…them. The…the birds," he managed, before bursting into tears of terror.

_Birds?_ Batman wondered. _Wait…is this…?_ He peered closely at the sobbing heap. The more that he looked, the more certain that he became that this poor, mand creature was "Jonathan Crane?" The wretch nodded weakly.

"Last…last month, I was in Arkham, right?" the terror-manipulating Crane began. "Well, a few…few weeks ago, this new guy…he helped me escape. A new criminal in Gotham…Gotham City. Well, I didn't think much of it at…at the time. He was just a new nut…new nut in a city of nuts. Hell, he didn't have…have a very imaginative costume, either. Just a domino mask and a jester's cap in addition to his…his normal clothing. No name…just a new, small-time nut." Crane paused. A pigeon had landed on the windowsill. It cooed softly and Crane erupted into screams; Batman stalked over to the window and shooed the bird away. After he had time to calm down, Crane continued his story. "Okay, so…so, a week later, I got this phone call. Guy called himself the…the Jester. I asked him why he was…was calling me. Turns out, he was the guy…the guy who had helped me out of Arkham. He said that…that he wanted his due. Said that he…he hadn't asked for anything at the time. I said that was very nice of him and hung up the phone. He called back...asked for my fear toxin formula. I refused, right? I mean, it's my toxin. It's what I use. I'd just be…just be another crazy shrink without it, right? He called later that day…asked for the formula again. I refused again. I wasn't going to give some new guy my secret. Then, the next day, he showed up in my lab. He had tried to improve his…his costume, I could tell. Gold tights and a black button-up shirt. He looked like an idiot…I told him so. God, I told him so! He got pissed, right? Demanded that I give him the fear toxin formula. I told him that he wasn't getting it, then reached for my toxin administrator…but it wasn't there. Then the bastard jumped me, right? Leapt on me, like some kind of bird! He beat me up, then took off the face mask that I wear around the lab. He took off my mask…then he gassed me with my toxin administrator. He tortured me…forced me to give him my toxin formula…then he changed it." Cranes eyes grew wide, and he grabbed at Batman's arms. "He _changed_ it, damn him! He made it more potent and created a form of it that would work if injected directly into the blood stream. It's more potent, damn it!" Crane went limp and sagged back onto the ground. "Since then…he's kept me here. Every few hours, he hits me with my…" Crane spat, "_his_ toxin. Every few hours…"

"Crane," Batman began, "I know that we have fought before, but I'll get you out of here. I'll get you to Arkham. They have antidotes to your toxin there. I'll help you get better…" Crane waved the offer away.

"No, you can't, y'see," the scrawny villain giggled, "you can't. _I_ can't. I can't go outside. If I go out there, they'll get me. They'll tear me to pieces…" There was a noise at the door. Batman slipped into the shadows.

The door creaked open and light poured in. Crane began screaming about birds trying to get him as figure stalked in, dragging a protesting woman. Dragging Harley Quinn.

"You just wait 'till Mistah J hears about this, ya chowdah-head!" the former psychiatrist screamed. "He'll rip yer ahms ahff! He'll kill ya an' yah'll die laughin'! An' then he'll hol' me, an' I'll say tah him, I'll say, 'Puddin', yer so romantic, oh—'"

"Please, Miss Quinzel. Your 'Pudding' is in no state to do anything. In case you had forgotten, he's still locked up in Arkham Asylum! Now, I grow weary of these threats." The figure turned to Crane. "And, for God's sake, Doctor, stop screaming. You'll have the warehouse fall down on us." He closed the door, allowing Batman to see him.

The Jester wore gold stockings and a gold shirt, covered by black pantaloons and a black vest. His feet were shod in black, medieval-style shoes. The hands on the door were sheathed in black gloves. But what arrested the Dark Knight's gaze were the man's eyes. From beneath the black Jester's cap and behind the gold domino mask, the man's deadpan eyes stared at the world. They were the eyes of a man who had, through perfectly rational reasoning, had arrived at an irrational conclusion.

They were the eyes of a man who had made madness out of sanity.

"Now, Dr. Crane," the Jester began, "it's time for your medicine." The New Clown in Town reached into his pocket and pulled out a syringe. Walking over to Crane, he injected its contents into the psychologist's limp body. "It would appear," he said cheerily as he emptied the vial, "that you had a visitor while I was out. The door was unlocked. Who came to see you, my little Scarecrow?"

"Nobody," Crane breathed. "I have had no…no visitors."

"I see," the Jester said disapprovingly as he walked to a crate. "We'll just have to see what Sylvester thinks of that, shall we?" He opened the crate and removed a cage containing a white cockatoo. "Now, Doctor," he said as he returned to the prostrate Crane, "are you sure that you haven't had any visitors?"

"Yes! Yes, I'm sure," Crane stammered, staring at the bird.

"Are you…lying?" the Jester inquired. "Sylvester doesn't _like_ liars. Why, he might ask me to open the door for him. He might call some of his friends in to deal with the dirty, naughty liar." The Jester slowly began to unlock the cage, staring straight into Crane's eyes as he did so. The cage door swung open.

"NO!" Crane screamed. "Don't let it out! I'll tell you, I'll tell you! Just keep the damn bird away from me!"

"Wonderful," the Jester enthused, closing the cage door. "You know, Dr. Crane, I must give you credit. Your fear toxin makes interrogation so _easy_. Why, all I have to do is wave a parrot in your face…and you tell me anything." He returned Sylvester's cage to its crate. "Now, who visited you?"

"It was…was the Bat," Crane murmured. Up in the rafters, Batman cursed.

"Hmm, the Batman? Here? All ready? That really was quite fast." The Jester pondered this development for a brief moment. "I wonder how he found this place so quickly…Crane? Did you send him a message?"

"How…how would I send him a message? I don't know how…how to contact him. And I can't go…go outside, remember?"

"Ah, yes," the Jester mused. "Well, then I suppose that he must have found out through the man who shipped the chemicals here." He shrugged. "I should have killed him when I had the chance. Oh well."

"I hope th' Bat makes ya choke on yer own damn bells, ya Mister-J-impersonatin', defenseless-woman-abductin', good-fah-nothin' moron!" Harley screeched. "I hope that he takes one o' them Batarangs and shoves it whah th' sun don't shine!" From his vantage point, Batman winced. Harley certainly could be graphic.

The Jester strolled back to Harley. "My dear, why so insulting?" He grinned. "You need to be taught some respect, Dr. Quinzel!" He leaned towards her. "And I know no way of instilling respect and discipline more effective than…_rape_," he breathed into her ear. Harley's eyes went wide as he forced her into a chair, then began to kiss her passionately. She tried to force him off, then succeeded in kicking him in the groin.

"Get away from me, ya pervert!" she screamed at him.

"Harleen!" the Jester admonished, holding his wounded crotch. "Have some manners! That's no way to treat a man!" He slapped her and then began to kiss her again. His hand slid to the back of her costume as Harley screamed in rage and terror.

A Batarang cut through the Jester's hand and he cried out in pain.

"No," Batman's voice echoed. "You will not have her." The Jester began to laugh, and his laughter was just as disturbing as his eyes. When the Joker laughed, he let loose wild whoops and screeching cackles. The Joker laughed like a maniac should. However, the Jester's laugh was a polite, friendly chuckle. It was the normal laugh of a man who had been told a joke.

It was sane, yet issued in such a way as to imply insanity.

"Ah, Batman," he chuckled, nursing his ruined hand. "So you _are_ here. A pity. I had hoped to have time to set up my next scene for you and the police to discover before you and I met. Alas." The Jester walked over to a large crate. Opening it, he removed a large refrigeration unit. "These two," he called as he removed a man and a woman from the unit, "were easy to kill. I took them in their apartment the night after I set up my last scene. I was going to place them on a park bench, in the middle of coitus…but you know how it is. Work got ahead of me and I just never had time."

"You're sick, Jester."

"Too true, too true," the capering criminal admitted. "But why don't you come down here and face me? I know that this is just leading up to that, anyway, so we might as well get the niceties out of the way. There's no other way that you'll get me to Arkham…or Blackgate, I suppose, but I doubt that I'm going there anyway." Taking his cue, Batman dropped down in front of the Jester. Unfortunately, he didn't count on the Jester producing a small club topped with a jester's head. With a simple _thud_, it was all over. The Dark Knight lay on the ground, rubbing his head, as Gotham's newest maniac stood over him.

"My God, was that it?" the Jester asked as he unscrewed the smiling head on top of his club. "That was too easy! All of this time, you've been the terror of Gotham's underworld…and a single blow to the head took you down? You're going to die," the Jester stated as he finally pulled the head off of the club, revealing a needle, "after such a simple exchange of blows? That's…why, that's just sad." He prepared to skewer Batman with his needle, infusing the Dark Knight with his new venom.

Then Harley butted him to the floor. "Run, Bats," she shouted. "Get Mistah J! He's the only thing tha' this sonnabitch is afraid of!" The Jester stood, holding his side, and beat Harley to the floor.

"The Jester fears nobody!" he screamed. "Nobody! Not the Joker, not the Batman, and certainly not Harley Quinn!" Batman aimed his grapnel at the window and fired, shattering the glass. As the cable retracted, pulling him out of the warehouse, he heard Crane begin to scream.

"OH GOD," the fear-drugged Scarecrow screamed, "THEY HAVE A WAY IN! THEY'RE COMING! THEY'RE COMING FOR ME!" He began to cry, sobbing horribly. Then he vomited. The Jester looked around at his compromised warehouse, and then slapped Harley again.

"You stupid slut!" he screamed at her. "You've ruined everything!" Harley began to laugh.

"Good, ya bastard! Now the Bat will get Mistah J and yah'll lose!"

"I will not lose, slut!" he screamed in her ear. He slapped her again, then began to lecture her. "Those two will _not_ be able to work together!"

"Ta stop ya, the Bat would do anythin'!" Harley retorted. "Ta save me, Mistah J would do anythin'! They'll work together if it kills them! Yer finished!"

The Jester slapped her one final time and then stalked out of her vicinity. "She could be right," he muttered to himself. "What if those two _do_ get together? That could be a problem…" He paused. _Of course_, he thought. _It's so simple. Why didn't I think of that earlier?_ He strolled to a crate and removed several vials of toxin, then left the warehouse, whistling to himself and grinning. He almost felt like his grin was tearing his face in half.

* * *

I'm sorry if Harley's accent is difficult to understand, but I just couldn't type her in anything else. It's just…not right. 

Oh, and I'm just checking…have any of you noticed my "Easter Eggs?" Random example: the title to Chapter Two is a reference, of course, to _A Streetcar Named Desire_.

Live long and prosper.

Dracheheim


	4. Ride More Than Thou Goest

**Dedication**: Dedicated to Edvard Grieg, for providing me with music to listen to.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the Batman franchise or any related characters. Nor do I own the concept of the Id, the Ego, and the Superego…that belongs to Freud. I _do_ own Dr. Katoves and all of his research as well as Dr. Chelsea Miller.

* * *

He sat in a small patch of light and waited. Outside of the dim illumination, the rest of the warehouse was darker than even _his_ soul. He sat. 

The back of his left leg began to itch, so he scratched it with his other foot. He drummed his fingers on the table in front of him.

_Okay_, he thought to himself, _I am officially bored out of my mind_.

_What do you mean, bored out of your mind?_ another part of his brain asked. _You haven't even visited me in years! I thought that you'd forgotten about me!_

_Who are you?_

_I'm your mind, you idiot! And I've been meaning to tell you—_

_Shut up_, a third voice commanded.

_Who's that?_

_That's, uh…_

_I'm Id. Pleased to meet you. This bastard who claims to be your mind is, in fact, Ego._

_Ah. Charmed._

_Would you three shut up? I'm trying to get to sleep!_

_Was that a fourth voice?_

_I think so…Superego, is that you?_

_Who are you?_

_I think that I'm Id. I could be Ego, though._

_No, I'm Ego. I thought that you were Superego._

_Wait, I'm Superego? Then who the hell is the new guy?_

_You are the new guy!_

_No, you're the new guy!_

_You are!_

_You are!_

_You are!_

_…he is!_

_…I can deal with that._

_Everyone, stop talking! _The voices fell silent. _How many voices are there in my head, anyway?_ The man fell out of his chair as a cacophony of innumerable voices filled his cranium. He could only pick out a few from the chaos.

_Hi, I'm Politeness._

_Hey there, sweetie. I'm Libido._

_What the—you guys have a party and you don't even bother to invite me? Jesus, it wouldn't have been that difficult for one of you to just say, "Oh, Sociability, do you want to come to a little shindig later in the forebrain?"_

_Uh, I'm, uh…well, that is to say…I'm Paranoia. Please don't tell anyone that you saw me!_

_We are Legion, for we are many._

Thankfully for what remained of the man's sanity, the warehouse door swung open and flooded the room with light. He stood as a man in a dark coat walked in carrying a briefcase.

"Is that my money?" the man at the table asked. His visitor looked confused.

"Money? Joker, what the hell are you talking about?" the cloaked man asked.

Things swam into focus. The patch of light was not the middle of a warehouse; it was his cell at Arkham Asylum. The visitor was not an underling bringing him money; it was Batman bringing him new information on the whole Jester situation.

He was not some lowly mob boss; he was the Joker.

Batman slapped the files that he was carrying on the crazed clown's table. "Here. These are copies of the police reports on the three cases that we're attributing to this Jester as well as a copy of the chemical analysis that I finally managed to extract from our dear Dr. Katoves."

The Joker looked up from the page that he had been reading. "You didn't place quotes around his name, Batsy."

"What?" Batman was confused by this oddly lucid, yet illogical statement.

"Quotation marks. 'Jester' versus Jester. See?" The Joker eyed Batman closely. "What do you know that isn't in these files?" The Caped Crusader wondered at the Joker's keen ability to discern what he was thinking from nonexistent clues.

"Well…I've encountered him." The Joker closed the files.

"And you were just going to let me sift through red tape? This is much more interesting! You've met him? Did he give you a goodnight kiss?"

Batman ignored the Joker's token witticism. "Yes. I tracked some smuggled chemicals to a waterfront warehouse. After picking the lock, I entered and found Dr. Jonathan Crane on—"

"_Scarecrow?!_" the Ace of Knaves screamed. "That fear-mongering quack! I should have taken off his gulliver when I had the chance! Oh, to punch that veck in the rot! To cut open his glazzies!"

"…what on Earth are you saying?"

"I've been reading a bit. _A Clockwork Orange_. Such an inspiring work!"

"…er, yes." Batman looked perturbed. "Anyway, no. Crane is not the Jester."

"Oh, phooey. And here I was, planning to make that effete doctor truly afraid of clowns."

"May I finish?" Batman tried not to lose his patience. _I need him for this_, he thought. _Strangling him would be counter-productive, not to mention in defiance of my vow against killing._

"Eh. Sooner or later."

"Right. After I had spoken with Crane for a few minutes, I learned that the Jester has, indeed, begun to produce a form of your Joker venom." Batman paused and waited for the Joker to stop screaming imprecations and threats against the new villain. "However, he has…changed it. He's added nitrous oxide, cyanide, and an improved form of Crane's fear toxin. I can figure out the cyanide and the nitrous oxide, but why fear toxin?"

The Joker pondered this for a moment. Two and two-thirds of a moment later, Batman began to fidget. Several moments later, the Dark Knight lost his patience. "Well, do you have any ideas?" Batman remembered his mistake in his earlier session with the clown and hastily added, "Any ideas, that is, related to this addition?"

"Several, Batman. For example, adding orange juice to vodka would make a refreshing drink without vodka's terrible aftertaste." Batman groaned as the Joker giggled to himself.

"No, I meant the addition of fear toxin to Joker venom. Why bother? Joker venom kills anyway…and his kills faster with the addition of cyanide." The Joker flipped through the files to Katoves's report, then looked up triumphantly.

"Of course! That proves that my venom is better than his! _His_ venom kills its victims too quickly for them to feel the full effects…too quickly for them to begin to feel the divine madness! The comedy of the cadaver is wasted in his formula!"

"Yes, but Joker…why add fear toxin?"

"Hm…the only possible effect would be to create a juxtaposition of fear and delight that would have the potential to short-circuit the victim's amygdala, leading to an increase in all feelings and emotions just prior to demise, strengthening the effect of the nitrous oxide…and the cyanide would feed the amygdala's decay instead of speeding the victim's death! Of course!" The Joker pounded the table, then looked crestfallen. "Of course…that does mean that his toxin is, in fact, better…"

Batman blinked. It wasn't often that he blinked from surprise, but the Joker's revelation had taken him completely by storm. "Are you…where did that come from?"

"Where did what come from?"

"That…well, it was almost a dissertation on the effects on the amygdala of—"

"What's an amygdala?"

"You…don't remember saying that? You gave an entire lecture!"

"Batsy, Batsy, Batsy…did my voice change while I was saying it?" Batman pondered this. It _had_ changed a little, but not very noticeably.

"Well, it changed a minor amount, I suppose, but not dramatically."

"Well, then," the Joker said while leaning back in his chair. "It was probably one of the other personalities. Several have begun to form. They've erected a democratic system of government and even fought a few minor wars, I believe."

"You seriously expect me to believe that?"

"…did you read the sign on the door when you came in? 'The Elizabeth Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane.' Where did you think that you were, Happyland?" The Joker laughed. Batman went to the door.

"Excuse me," he asked the security guard, "but could you bring his psychiatrist? I want to ask a few questions."

"Certainly, sah!" the guard saluted. Batman returned to his seat. After sitting through a few moments of the Joker's rants on the subjects of insanity, spoons, and gerbils, Batman rose to answer a knock at the door.

"Hello," the woman on the other side said. "I'm Dr. Chelsea Miller. You wanted to ask me something?"

"Yes, Dr. Miller," Batman replied. "The man in this cell, the Joker…does he suffer from dissociative identity disorder?" Dr. Miller laughed.

"Him? Multiple personalities? Batman, the Joker doesn't have a personality. He recreates himself every few seconds based on the world around him. Sometimes, he'll be amazingly brilliant and insightful. Other times, he'll be thicker than a brick. Some days, he's a murdering psychopath. Other days, he's a nearly harmless clown."

"_Nearly_ harmless."

"Yes, nearly. Did I answer your question?"

"As much as you could. Thank you, Dr. Miller." She left and Batman returned to the table. "All right, Joker. I believe you. So, the fear toxin is added to create a more powerful reaction to the venom…put that away!" The Joker looked up guiltily and put the yo-yo back on his bed. "As I was saying, after I finished talking with Crane, someone else came to the warehouse door. I hid and the Jester entered." The Joker looked crestfallen.

"What? We already found him? I haven't yet had the opportunity to match wits with him! I haven't been able to meet him in the arena of the mind! What about that chess game that you promised me?"

"Let me finish. The Jester entered, dragging Harley Quinn with him." The Joker shot out of his seat and stood, eyes blazing.

"_He has Harley? My Harley?_ That bastard will rue the day that he was born! I'll take his belled cap and shove it up his—"

"Quiet! You're not letting me finish. Just sit still for five minutes. It'll be painless," Batman advised. _Especially compared to what I'll do to you if you don't_, he thought to himself. "He dragged Harley in with him and then shut the doors. He spoke with Crane, injected him with some fear toxin, and learned that I was in the warehouse by interrogating the now terrified doctor. At this point, Harley began threatening him."

"That's my girl," the Joker whispered to himself, hoping that Batman couldn't hear. _It's been way over five minutes, anyway_, he thought to himself. _Hey, Id? Ego? Guys? I could use some entertainment over here._

_Nothing doing, pal. Pay attention to the Bat. It's important._

_Feh. How important could it really be? We'll catch this Jester guy whether or not I pay attention right now._

_Well, it _could_be rather important. For example, you just missed the bit where the Jester tried to rape your girlfriend._

"_WHAT?_" the Joker screamed. "He tried to…to violate Harley? My Harley?" Batman gritted his teeth, but managed to avoid violence.

"Yes. I suspect that he did it just to draw me out of hiding, but I can't be sure. As I was saying, he nearly had me, but Harley intervened and allowed me to grapnel to safety."

"Bastard!" the Joker screamed, ignoring Batman's description of the confrontation. "Oh, he'll regret that one! Nothing can stop the might of the Joker-Batman team, and he's just given me fresh reason to do my damn best!" He shooed Batman from his cell. "Now, get on with you, you flying rat! I have a lot of papers to read, and not much time in which to read them!" Batman left the cell.

The Joker started to sift through the pages of laborious, informative, and, above all,_ boring_ police work. "Well," he said to himself, "it's going to be a long day."

* * *

Well, I like how this one went. Writing for the Joker is always fun…especially when he's by himself. By the way, the amygdala is an almond-shaped nerve cluster in the brain that is responsible for emotions and such stuff. 

Live long and prosper.

Dracheheim


	5. Learn More Than Thou Trowest

**Dedication**: Dedicated to all those who put up with me on a daily basis. Thank you for not killing me.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the _Batman_ franchise or any related characters. Nor do I own Picasso, Escher, or Dali. I _do_ own Dr. Chelsea Miller and Dr. Jake Katoves.

* * *

_Creak…slam._

The door labeled "0801" swung shut, leaving the chalk-skinned madman safely imprisoned. Cloak swirling behind him, the Batman stalked away from that particular bastion of madness, through the pale halls. As always, he noticed with wry amusement the placement of the paintings on the walls. Directly across from the cells of the madmen hung calming paintings and landscapes; however, as if to remind the doctors of the nature of the building, _between_ the cells hung paintings of a very different nature. The works of Pablo Picasso were the most common, but paintings by Salvador Dalí were to be found near some cells. However, in the Eastern Wing, the home of the Joker and the other inconceivably dangerous madmen, M. C. Escher covered the walls.

Walking past the impossible realities conceived of by the Dutch artist, Batman passed through the security checkpoint and entered the main body of the asylum.

Making his way through the crowd of doctors and guards, Batman heard snippets of conversation. He took note of some of them, such as the news that Killer Croc had broken his chains and almost escaped, and disregarded others. Just before he reached the stairs, he caught sight of Dr. Miller in a heated argument with the administrator, Dr. Cavendish. Hearing the Joker's name mentioned, he ducked into a corner and adjusted his listening device to eavesdrop on their conversation.

"But Cavendish," Chelsea was saying, "I feel so close to a breakthrough! There may be some form of—"

"Dr. Miller," the clearly irritated Cavendish interrupted, "there _is_ no treatment for the Joker. I've been telling you this for the past five minutes. Repeating your belief that you have reached a breakthrough is not going to change that fact."

"But—"

"I have been working with this…this _maniac _since before you were a doctor. His mind was completely annihilated when he became Gotham's 'Clown Prince of Crime.' Whoever he was before that occurrence has been completely lost. If Batman had not dropped him into that vat at the chemical plant, there might be some form of treatment, but this man has no mind to fix!"

"Yet I have seen improvement! Advancement! He is becoming more normal, more personable—"

"As you yourself told the Batman, the Joker recreates himself from moment to moment. In here, it no doubt suits him to be harmless. There is no harm to cause. His jokes are simple, innocuous. But out there," Cavendish gestured to a window, "he can be harm_ful_. Once his environment changes, he changes to suit it. Gotham is a city of crime, a city of violence. He reflects the city like—like a funhouse mirror, I suppose. It's all there, but it's warped."

"He speaks of one day as the cause of his delirium," Dr. Miller interjected, becoming excited. "No doubt it was that day that you spoke of when he was dropped into the chemicals. If the effects of that single day could be analyzed, they might be reversible. Imagine! We could rehabilitate the Joker! We could prove that no case is beyond the grasp of a good psychoanalyst…" The two doctors left the range of Batman's listening device.

Batman walked down the stairs, thinking about the conversation that he had overheard. At the entrance to Arkham, Jim Gordon waited impatiently, sipping at a cup of coffee. "Well," the commissioner asked, "are you finished? Did you do what you needed to do?"

"Yes," Batman replied, "I'm finished. I suppose that I'll go see Dr. Katoves and see if he can give me anything new on the toxin sample."

"You know," Gordon said as they walked out of the asylum, "I've always hated being in this place. It reminds me of the House of Mirrors at the carnival. I always hated the mirrors. I was afraid that the people in the mirrors were going to escape…afraid that they were going to try to force _me_ into those mirrors." He chuckled. "I suppose that, if this is a house of mirrors, I still am afraid of that." There was a pause, each of the two men absorbed in his own thoughts. "Especially _him_."

"Look, Jim…I know how you feel about him. I know that you hate him for what he did to Barbara…but we do need him for this case. Hell, he was even able to figure out why the Jester added Crane's fear toxin to the venom. Something to do with stimulating the amygdala…I'll have to run some tests on that, but it seems reasonable."

"All right, but…"

_Bang._ A scream.

"What the hell was that?" Gordon shouted, whirling around the face the asylum.

"It sounded…like gunfire."

"In there? Shit, I hope not." The two men headed back inside the madhouse.

Inside, all was chaos. Doctors were running around in a panic. Security guards were trying to push through the crowd in order to discover the source of the noise. Batman grabbed one of the guards.

"What was that?" he demanded of the guard.

"We, uh, think that someone fired a gun," the shaken guard responded.

"No shit. I should give you my cloak and cowl, since you're so much better at this than I am. _Where_ was the gun fired?"

"Well, uh…security cameras show an unknown guard entering cell 0801 a few minutes before the shot was fired…"

"That's…that's the Joker's cell," Batman breathed.

"Oh, hell no…" Gordon whispered, his eyes widening. "He's not escaping again. Not while I'm here."

The security guard said something else, but Batman and Gordon were already running to the East Wing. As the two pushed their way to the cell of the Ace of Knaves, a confused babble of voices surrounded them.

"Someone was shot?"

"Yeah. I heard that Harvey Dent pulled the trigger."

"How'd he get the gun, then?"

"Someone slipped it to him through the ventilation shafts."

"No, his old thugs got it in to him through the window."

"You're _both_ wrong. I heard that a crooked cop snuck it in."

"Did you hear the gunfire?"

"Yeah, it came from Harvey Dent's cell, right?"

"No, it was down in the cellar. Waylon Jones's cellar."

"Hey, wait. I thought that it came from Preston Payne's chamber…"

Batman and Gordon reached cell 0801. The door was swung open, propped open by a body. It was Dr. Miller, lying in a pool of her own blood, next to a gun. Inside the cell, two security guards held a third, disheveled guard. In the corner, the Joker stood on his bed, making odd motions with his hands. Dr. Cavendish stood outside the cell, staring at Dr. Miller's body.

"What happened?" Batman inquired.

"Well," the older of the two real guards said, shaking his captive, "shit-for-brains here impersonated a security guard and made his way here. We know from security footage that he opened and entered the cell. We're not sure what was happening in the cell for a few seconds after that. However, we know that he was still in the cell when Dr. Miller came in." Dr. Cavendish looked up from the corpse.

"I-we're not sure why _she_ was visiting 0801," he interrupted. "She isn't scheduled for any visits with him today…"

"Anyway," the guard continued, scratching his beard, "she must have startled our boy here, causing him to fire at her. Fortunately, Tom and I were nearby, so we caught him before he could help this lunatic escape."

"Did he say that it was an escape attempt?" Batman asked, trying to understand the Joker's hand motions. _Oh,_ he realized, _he's conducting an orchestra._

"No-o-o," the guard said slowly, "but why else would someone bring a gun into the Joker's cell? You think that it was attempted murder?" He laughed. "If you think that someone would go to these extraordinary lengths just for a bit of vigilante justice, you'd have to be…" Batman stood impassively before the guard. "Oh…sorry."

Batman waved the insult away, and then peered closely at the prisoner. "Let _me_ talk to him," he suggested to Gordon. "I'm sure that I can learn a thing or two…" Gordon nodded.

"All right," he said.

As they left the cell, Gordon leaned in towards Batman. "Of course," he whispered, "I have to watch you interrogate him…just in case." Batman nodded.

"Of course."

* * *

The interrogation cell was brightly lit. The false security guard blinked in the glare from the mirror as he looked across the table. Batman stood imposingly on the other side. 

"L-listen," the prisoner stammered. "Don't…don't come near me! Don't touch me, m-man! I got rights!" Batman laughed.

"You're correct. You have lots of rights. Cops can't hurt you. They have to give you certain allowances. But, you know…" He leaned over the table. "I am not a goddamn cop. _I_ am the goddamn Batman, and I don't have to give you anything!"

The prisoner shot back in his chair and his glace darted towards the mirror behind Batman. The Dark Knight noticed. "I don't think that you're," the crime fighter lied. "You've watched television. You've seen movies. You know that there are cops watching from behind the mirror." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Or, rather, there would be…if Gordon knew which room that we're in. If I had to operate by police regulations. But, right now, there's just you, me, and my various…tools of persuasion. Now talk!" He banged a gauntleted fist on the table.

The prisoner stuttered and stammered, his eyes growing wide. _He looks to be on some kind of drugs_, Batman thought. _He'll crack quickly, then. They always do._ After a few minutes of threatening and cajoling, he was proven right.

"I-I don't know much," the prisoner began. "I-I'm sorry. A-all that I know is that he…the guy who hired me…he calls himself the J-Jester. He s-said that the Joker was in his w-way. S-said that bumping him off would be simple. P-paid me good money…" He collapsed in tears and wails. "Oh, God! H-he's going to get me! Either h-he is or y-you are!"

"Thank you," Batman said as he approached the door. "You've been very…helpful. Gordon?" The commissioner opened the door. The prisoner's bloodshot eyes grew wide and confused.

"W-what? He was there the whole time?"

* * *

In the cockpit of the Batmobile, lights and displays kept track of computer processes and reports on the police radio band. Batman was using his radio to call Wayne Manor. "Alfred, this is important. I want you to seal off all of the entrances to and exits from the Batcave…except for the Batmobile passage. Make sure that there's no way in or out of there. Do it from the manor…I don't want you in there." 

"Yes, Master Bruce," his retainer replied. "May I ask why?"

"I'm bringing the Joker home with me."

"Oh, well that's—wait, what? The—are you all right, sir? Why?"

"Because someone's trying to kill him…and, for once, I need him. And I need him alive."

"…very well, Master Bruce…if you're quite sure…" He hung up.

Gordon approached Batman as the crime fighter emerged from his vehicle. "Are you sure about this? Sure, he's harmless enough in here…but out there? In your base of operations, no less…"

"I'm sure, Jim. As unstable as he is, he's our only hope of catching this guy." Batman walked over to where the Joker was held, surrounded at gunpoint by ten guards. "You'll sort out the paperwork, Jim?"

Gordon laughed. "Paperwork? For the sake of my remaining sanity, I'm keeping this one off of the books and out of the media's sight."

Batman grabbed the Joker by his pale wrist. "Come on," he told the grinning maniac. "You're coming home with me, old foe." The Joker looked shocked.

"What? I'm astonished, Batsy! Back to your place? After the first date?" He smirked, trying to hold the laughter in. It was futile. A giggle escaped his lips and he began to howl with laughter.

* * *

Fun stuff this update. Most importantly, however, I'm sorry that I was unable to get anything up earlier in the week. Mid-term examinations are approaching and I never really found time to type anything up. It'll be the same, if not worse, for the next week and a half. 

On another note, I recently renamed all of the chapters. They now follow a pattern…

Live long and prosper.

Dracheheim


	6. Set Less Than Thou Throwest

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the _Batman_ franchise or any related characters. Nor do I own Superman or Mister Mxyzptlk. I do own the Jester…well, I own my Jester. I don't own Chuck Lane.

* * *

_Vroom._

The Batmobile sped through the outskirts of Gotham, headed for an isolated patch of forest. In the driver's seat sat Batman, the defender of the crime-rotted city. In the passenger seat, the seat that once held Dick Grayson and now more commonly held Jason Todd, sat a man. His skin was bone white, his smile blood red. His long, beautiful fingers held, despite their delicacy, the strength to strangle a man with frightening efficiency. His slim chest had, despite its appearance of fragility, taken knife wounds and blows that would kill most men. His head, despite the ridiculous green curls, contained a mind deranged and evil enough to contemplate the most horrendous of crimes with a chuckle.

He was the Joker, Batman's greatest enemy. Batman's new ally. Currently, he was attempting to engage the Dark Knight in conversation.

"You know, Batsy, you should really consult me more often," the Joker began.

No response.

"…I could really help you, from time to time."

No response.

"…come on, darling! Don't be like this! I could tell you things about the other villains!"

Batman did not respond immediately, but after a few moments, curiosity got the better of him. "Like what?" he inquired. The Joker grinned. Finally, he had received some attention.

"Well…take Victor Fries for instance."

"Yes?"

"He's Jewish."

"…what?" Batman was completely thrown. Not only was this information completely useless, he was skeptical of the statement having any truth to it.

"Yes…he's one of the Frozen Ones." The Joker began to giggle, and then the Batmobile was filled with the sound of his screeching cackles.

Batman spun the steering wheel ninety degrees, slamming the Joker into the door.

"Oof," the clown exhaled. "What was that for?"

Batman did not respond. Then the Joker noticed that the vehicle was accelerating. Peering ahead, he saw a cliff face.

"Oh, come _on_, Batsy! You know my jokes are funny! Stop pretending that you're going to kill us both just to shut me up!"

Batman did not respond. The cliff grew nearer.

"…Batsy?"

Batman did not respond. The cliff was frighteningly close now.

"You're going to do it. You're actually going to do it. Well, it's been nice knowing you…pity that the police won't be able to chase you down and arrest you for my murder.

Batman did not respond. The cliff was…

The Batmobile passed through the hologram and into the Batcave. Batman slowed the vehicle, parked it, and then turned to the Joker. "You can open your eyes now," he snapped. The Joker's eyelids shot open.

"I was…uh…blinking. Yeah. Blinking. And then I thought, 'Oh, this is interesting…having my eyes shut like this. I'll just, uh, keep it this way for a while,'" the Clown Prince of Crime explained.

"Sure," Batman responded, stalking deeper into the cave. As he left, the lights in the Batmobile's refueling area began to dim. The Joker ran after Batman.

"Hey, wait up! You can't just leave me with your car! You don't know what I might do to it!"

"You're right. I don't. Nor do I care."

"Aww, Batsy," wheedled the Joker, "you know that it's only fun for me when you get into the spirit of it!" Batman wheeled around.

"You're right," he said, advancing on the maniac, "I do know that. But this is not supposed to be _fun_. This is a serious matter, damnit!" The Joker grinned.

"Ah, _there's_ the Batman I know and love! It's not like you to not respond to me…but I knew that, eventually…" Batman turned away. The Joker took a moment to analyze the cave. Immediately, he realized what was missing. "Say, where's featherbrains? It's odd seeing you in your cave without the Boy Blunder around. Did you strain him during last night's 'festivities'?"

"What festivities?" Batman asked. Then he realized what the Joker was implying. "You…you filthy reprobate!" he spat. The Joker cackled with mirth.

Before Batman could lose his composure and hurt the clown, the phone to Wayne Manor rang. "I'll get it!" the Joker shouted. Batman grabbed the phone before the Ace of Knaves could reach it.

"No, I will," he growled. "Yes?" he said into the phone.

"Master Bruce? Is…he there with you?"

"Yes, old friend."

"Well, regardless…Mr. Kent called. He said that he wished to speak with you about this 'Jester' business." Batman stopped breathing for a moment. Superman had information? This was a boon.

"Thank you. I'll call him."

"Yes, Master Bruce." Alfred hung up.

"Who was that?" the Joker asked, sobbing. "Are you seeing someone else?"

"What? I…" Batman was completely thrown by the Joker's tears.

"Oh, I see how it is! You just used me! Used me for my body! What's her name? Well? What's the slut's name?" The clown's tears began to drip onto the floor. He buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking with his sobs.

"Joker, what in the hell are you talking about?" Batman demanded. Then he realized that the Joker's shoulders were shaking from laughter, not from tears.

"Oh, Bats!" he giggled, "You are much too easy of a sell! My God, I barely even got started!"

Batman stalked back to the phone. Picking it up, he dialed the number of Clark Kent's apartment.

"Hi, this is Clark," a voice answered.

"Hello, Superman. It's Batman." Superman picked up on the code immediately: Bruce was not alone.

"Ah, Batman. I assume this is about my earlier call about…"

"About the Jester, yes. What can you tell me?"

"Well…I actually wanted to ask _you_ something about this guy." Under his cowl, Batman's eyes narrowed.

"Yes?"

"This…this isn't Chuck Lane, is it?"

"Who?"

"Chuck Lane. He was a crime-fighter a few years back who went by the name of 'The Jester.' He was a cop who was descended from…well…a jester."

"I don't think that Lane is our guy," Batman said. "I'll run it through the supercomputer, though. I'll get back to you if it seems possible, though."

"All right…if I hear anything here in Metropolis about this, I'll contact you."

"Thanks." Superman hung up.

Batman walked over to the supercomputer, temporarily forgetting the Joker's presence. "Computer," he said, "pull up all files on Chuck Lane."

"Computer," the Joker interrupted, "close all files on Chuck Lane and open a Solitaire game." Batman spun to face the Joker.

"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded. "I'm trying to work on the Jester case! Remember, you want to bring this bastard down, too!"

"Yeah," the Joker whined, "but I'm _bored_. Nothing has happened for maybe five whole minutes!"

"That's not my concern," Batman snapped as he re-opened files on Chuck Lane.

* * *

The man sat alone. It was dark and cold in the office building. All the other workers had gone home a long time ago. He still had work to do, however. As he poured over the files on the new prototype, he felt a presence behind him. He turned around and there stood…

* * *

"What are you _talking_ about?" Batman asked, standing over the Joker. "I'm trying to concentrate on this thing, but you keep talking!" 

"I'm not talking," the Joker responded.

"Yes, you are! You just said, 'As he poured over the files on the new prototype, he felt a presence behind him. He turned around and there stood…' I don't—_we_ don't have time for your ravings. Just let me concentrate!"

"Fine," the Joker pouted. "I'll be quiet."

* * *

The _very quiet_ man sat alone _very quietly_. It was dark and cold _and very quiet_ in the office building. All the other _very quiet_ workers had gone home a long time ago, _very quietly_. He still had work to do, however_, but he did it very quietly_. As he poured _very quietly_ over the files on the new_, very quiet_ prototype, he felt a _very quiet_ presence behind him. He turned around _very quietly_ and there stood…

* * *

"I hate you," Batman snapped without looking up from the computer. "I know that you know that merely saying the word 'quiet' does not make one any quieter. I also know that you're just doing this to annoy me." 

"No, I'm not," the Joker protested. "I just need something to _do_! I need something interesting to happen, something to hold my attention, something…" The screen of the supercomputer went blank, and then was filled with the grinning visage of the Jester. "Something…like that, really."

* * *

"People of Gotham," the Jester said on televisions and computer screens across the city, "my name is the Jester."

* * *

"How the hell did he do this?" Batman cursed as he vainly attempted to regain control of his computer. "How the hell did he lock up my computer? It's not on the main line!"

* * *

"There are some," the Jester continued, "who might be confused by my choice of name. Rest assured, I am _not_ Charles Lane."

* * *

"Oh, Christ," Batman said as realization dawned. "He has my cave bugged. He knows who I am."

* * *

"No, good people, Charles Lane is dead. I killed him."

* * *

"Damnit, damnit, damnit!" Batman screamed. "Who is he? How did he figure it out? How did he get in here?" 

"Calm down, Batsy!" the Joker shouted back. "Everyone knows who you are!"

* * *

"I killed him, and he was only the first. I have killed many, now. And I shall kill many more of you before the week is out. Hell," he smiled, "I'm going to kill every one of you."

* * *

"What do you mean?" Batman demanded. "Who else knows who I am?" 

"You're _Batman_," the Joker responded. "Your real face isn't the one beneath your mask, it's the mask itself!"

* * *

"Now, some of you may plan to flee the city to escape my fun…however, that would do you no good. You're going to die anyway. I've already killed you."

* * *

"You are not a man," the Joker shouted, "you are a specter! A creature of the night!"

* * *

"Rest assured, however, that I will do everything in my power to make your deaths as slow and painful as possible. Good night, Gotham. Sleep well."

* * *

The Joker was screaming now. "Not a man! A bat! A goddamn bat!"

* * *

Sorry that I haven't been able to update recently. Mid-semester examinations and all that stuff…but now they're over. 

HAH! I totally fooled you guys. Mister Mxyzptlk wasn't even involved in this story, but, by putting him in the disclaimer, I caused you to expect his appearance.

On a more serious note, I am sure that you all have heard that Heath Ledger, the actor portraying the Joker in the new Batman movie, has died. I should like to take this space to wish him a goodbye. And, to quote his predecessor as the Joker, Jack Nicholson, "As my plastic surgeon always said, 'If you gotta go, go with a smile!'" Goodbye, Heath.

Live long and prosper.

Dracheheim


	7. Leave Thy Drink And Thy Whore

**Dedication**: Dedicated to my wonderful girlfriend, whose love and attention is keeping me from going insane and attacking people with a sword while screaming, "The gerbils! The goddamn gerbils!"

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the _Batman_ franchise or any related characters. I do own Chad, Joe, and the Jester.

* * *

_Drip_. _Drip_.

The man watched the water fall. For thousands of years, he thought, it had been flowing, falling from the ceiling to the floor. For thousands of years, it had been building up the stalactite from which it fell and the stalagmite upon which it landed. For thousands of years, the water had worked to build this amazing cave, now dimly lit by emergency lighting. As he swiveled a chair, the back of which he was seated on, he began to listen to a voice coming from a large metal box. Inside of the box, a man dressed up as a bat was grunting as he attempted to repair the computer that ran the cave's systems.

"Well," Batman grunted, "just before he"—_fzzt_—"damn, deactivated my computer, he claimed that he had already"—_shzzp_—"shit, had already killed"—_zzft_—"son of a bitch, killed everyone, right?"

"Mmm," the Joker replied noncommittally.

"So, I'm thinking that he's using some kind of"—_bzzr_—"damn it, some kind of poison."

The Joker looked away from the water droplet and raised a thin eyebrow at Batman.

"You're right, nobody has died yet, so perhaps with some"—_krzz_—"shit, some kind of activating regeant…"

Shaking his head at Batman's folly, the Joker began to chuckle. His chuckle erupted into his usual whooping and screeching laughter, and then subsided to a few solitary giggles. "Poison?" he asked incredulously. "Not likely. Clearly," and here, he adopted an erudite drawl, "you've been spending far too much of your time sane. I'm going to prescribe a standard dose of madness. Take it twice daily, and if hallucinations fail to occur, contact me and I'll increase your dosage."

"Joker," Batman warned. "I've been burned and"—_zzfbt_—"damn, burned and electrocuted several times over the past half hour. Don't try my"—_kzft_—"son of a bitch, don't try my patience with your jokes."

"Oh, Batsy," the Joker pouted, "you're never any fun. What about my needs?"

Batman merely glared at the clown.

"Oh, all right. From what you've told me, this guy thinks," the Joker said, tapping his temple, "like yours truly. No, simply _poisoning_ everyone wouldn't be fun enough. Not enough of a game, you see. If you kill all of the pawns, rooks, knights, and bishops before the game starts, the endgame is boring as a dead monkey in a business suit."

"All right," Batman replied, returning to the bowels of the computer, "if not poison, then"—_bzzkrzzt_—"shit! I haven't done any major rewiring for years," he said, forgetting the poison for the moment. "I can't figure out what goes where," he panted, standing and wiping his brow, "much less what this bastard has done…"

The Joker, fascinated by some of Batman's trophies, responded without so much as looking at the computer. "Is there a purple wire somewhere?"

Batman crawled back into the computer. "I don't see…wait, yeah. I found a purple wire…"

The Joker nodded. "Right. Remove it, then plug the yellow wire into the right port and the blue wire in the left." He waited as his orders were carried out.

Batman paused after making the requested connections, but his patience quickly evaporated. "Nothing's happening, Joker."

"You're not done yet, silly! Now, do you see the green wire?"

"Uhh…yeah, I found it."

"Take it out, too, then plug the blue wire in the right port and the red wire in the left port."

"Okay…done."

"Almost done. Pull the white wire out, but don't plug anything into the ports that it was occupying. Now, pull out the card behind it. It should slide out of the slot, taking those ports with it."

"All right, now what."

"Now? Now you flip that big switch to your left."

_Click_.

A brief moment of silence followed, then—

_Hmmmmmmmm_. The supercomputer began to reboot, quarantining the corrupted software and replacing it with backups. Batman crawled out of the computer, only to be confronted with an outstretched, chalk-white hand.

"Let me see the wires and the cord," the Joker demanded. Batman relinquished them, staring at the clown with obvious surprise.

"How did you…"

The Joker screamed an inhuman note of pure rage. The sound of made by the crystallization of pure fury. The screams of a thousand scorned women. The crescendo note of Holst's "Mars: The Bringer of War" screeched from an un-tuned fiddle played by Erich Zann. "_**Bastard!**_" he screeched. "_**This is the last God damned straw! **_I'll kill him! First, he takes my shtick! Then, he takes my girl! And now, he takes my gadgets! The Joker does not share his toys!"

Batman grabbed the Joker by the shoulders, trying to calm him down from his frenzy. "How do you know," he asked, "that he didn't develop his own device?"

In response, the Joker ripped free of Batman's grasp and waved the wires and the card below the crime fighter's nose. "Green, purple, white, and a_card_! Who else? Who else but me, Bats? I developed this thing in case I ever found your hideout, but it was intended for me and _only_ me! Not some shit-faced faker!"

Batman grabbed him again. "Well, if we stop him…"

"You're damn right that we'll stop him! We'll stop him, and then I'll wring his scrawny neck! Call Gordon right now and tell him that the water is tainted, but that people _cannot_ stop drinking it under _any_ circumstances!"

Beneath his cowl, Batman's eyes widened in shock. "You mean…the Jester is poisoning the water?"

"No!" the Joker replied, slamming his fist on top of the computer housing. "I told you, poison isn't fun! However…in exceedingly small doses, Joker Venom isn't lethal, but it's extremely addictive. The withdrawal symptoms include hallucinations, paranoia, convulsions, spasms, loss of bowel control, and, eventually, death."

"Jesus Christ," Batman breathed. "What do you _make_ this stuff out of?"

"That's not important right now, Bats. The Venom in the water is just his way of killing those who try to run away. He's got to have something _else_ planned for those who stay. Now, call Gordon while I think about this…"

* * *

_Drip_. _Drip_.

Neither of the two men had time to watch the water fall. They had a task to complete. As they emptied the large steel barrels into Gotham's water supply, they spoke.

"So, Chad, how are things with Emily?" the first one asked.

"Oh, it's fantastic!" Chad replied enthusiastically. "She's cute, smart, funny…everything that a guy could ask for in a girl, really."

There was a brief pause, and then the first worker coughed. "So, uh," he began hesitantly, "have you told her…about _this_?"

Chad was shocked. "What, that I earn my living doing grunt work for Gotham's Most Twisted? Oh, Hell no, Joe! She thinks that I work at the chemical factory…you know, the one by the playing card manufacturer."

"You're going to have to tell her eventually, man. You know that," Joe advised.

"Yeah, but I figure…when we get paid for this one, I might have enough to get, y'know, a real job…"

Joe chuckled and then began to laugh. "Someone has forgotten what kind of a trap Gotham is. We'll go to jail if this guy gets nailed. If he doesn't, everyone in the city will die…including us." Chad sighed.

"I guess that you're right. Hell, at least, when we were working for the Joker, we knew that we had a chance of not dying…"

Joe nodded. "Yep. As long as we kept our heads down, didn't get promoted, and only spoke when spoken to, we had about a…oh, fifty percent chance of living to see the dawn. This new guy, though…" his voice dropped to a whisper. "Well, this new guy scares the shit out of me. And when the Bat takes him out—"

"If," a voice from the shadows corrected. "_If_ the Bat takes me out, it won't matter to you," the Jester repeated as he stepped into the light. With a quick, effortless motion, he stabbed Joe. "You'll _still_ be dead." He laughed his polite, friendly chuckle, and then noticed Chad staring at Joe's body. "Get back to work!" he snarled. "Fetch some more barrels!" Chad scurried away from the scene. Left alone, the Jester considered the situation. Bodies were so messy. He grinned, and then heaved Joe into the open pipe. "There. Now, Joe, flow out into the city! Swim in the people's pipes! Pour from their sinks! Fill their cups to the brim…after all, who doesn't like a good cup of Joe?" He smirked, trying to hold the laughter in. It was futile. A giggle escaped his lips and he began to howl with laughter.

* * *

Tired. Need sleep. No note this week. Blarg. It's so late that it's tomorrow already.

Live long and prosper.

Dracheheim


	8. And Keep In A Door

**Dedication**: I hereby dedicate this chapter to my pencil, without whom none of this would be possible. Thanks, little Number Two.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the _Batman_ franchise or any related characters. I own the Jester and any other characters that I have made up.

* * *

"…mean he's tainted the water supply?" Gordon was asking over the phone. 

"Yes," Batman replied, "but we can't just tell people to stop drinking it. Apparently, Joker Venom can be used in small doses to cause addictions. The withdrawal symptoms are extensive, but end in death."

"Jesus. That's…that's impressive. What do we do?"

"There isn't anything we can do at the moment. Talk to Katoves…see if he can find any substitute or cure for the addiction. The Joker and I…" The Joker looked up from the passenger seat at the mention of his name. "Are going into the waterworks to see what he's doing. Maybe we'll run into him. I'll call you as soon as I have anything."

"All right…thank you." Batman hung up.

"Finally!" the Joker sighed. "I thought that you were going to be on the phone_forever_! Can we do something now?"

"Yes," Batman replied. "Did you not hear me telling Gordon?"

"I wasn't paying attention. I was listening to the radio."

"…the radio isn't on, Joker." The Joker looked at the Batmobile's console in surprise.

"Really? Then where is the music coming from? I know that Holst's 'Also sprach Zarathustra' is playing _somewhere_."

Batman sighed. "Let's just go in and get this over with." The two exited the Batmobile and headed for the gate.

Testing the padlock, Batman was unsurprised to learn that the lock had been picked. He opened the gate slowly while the Joker hopped impatiently from foot to foot. "Batsy," he groaned, "I'm boooored. Open it faster!"

"We don't want someone to hear it creak!" Batman hissed. "Just control yourself!" The two entered the waterworks.

While the Joker muttered and sang to himself, Batman checked the security booth. The guard inside was slumped over his desk, dead. Batman rewound the tapes and watched the occurrences of the past twenty minutes.

It really was foolish of Batman to stop watching the Joker. While the caped crusader was busy watching the Jester's minions poison Gotham, the Joker sidled up to the corpse of the security guard. Slipping his hand into the guard's holster, the Clown Prince of Crime silently removed the gun and transferred it to his pocket. Soon after the sleight of hand trick was completed, Batman looked away from the monitors.

"Come on," he said to the Joker, who was standing behind him with an air of innocence. "One of the Jester's henchmen is still working. I think that we should pay him a little…visit."

The Joker grinned. "Now, that _is_ going to be fun!"

* * *

Meanwhile, the Jester was watching the two from his own camera feed. _Well_, he thought to himself, _they found me. I suppose that it was rather foolish of me to say that I'd already killed the people of Gotham, but I didn't expect them to catch on this quickly. By all accounts, the Joker's mind is twisted and warped. He shouldn't have been able to deduce my plans so quickly without some form of major aggravation…_ His reveries were interrupted by a girlish giggle. 

"Now yer in trouble, yah mohtif-stealin' moron! Not only is Mistah J here ta deal with yah, he's brought the Bat along with him! Yer finished!" Harley taunted from her chair.

"Now, Harley," the Jester admonished as he approached the chair to which he had tied her, "that's a very pessimistic view. I think that this is the beginning of the end for 'Mistah J.'" He punched her on the cheek and she went limp.

Turning back to his monitors, the Jester saw Dr. Crane out of the corner of his eye. He walked towards the moaning heap, grinning as he thought out the next few minutes. "And you," he began, kicking Crane in the ribs, "you complicate matters. You talk to the Batman"—_kick_—"and, because of that, I had to drag you two"—_kick_—"out here with me so that"—_kick_—"you didn't give him any more information." He left the groaning doctor and advanced to the third body in the room. "Joe, Joe, Joe," he sighed as he approached the water-logged corpse. "You're just full of problems, really. First, you slow down the work pace, then you insult me, and finally, you clog up the pipes so that my toxin can't flow out to the people of Gotham. They _need_ that toxin, Joe!"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Jester!" he replied to himself in a high-pitched squeak. "I didn't mean to, honestly!"

"I think that I'm going to have to punish you, Joe. Can you deal with that?"

"Happily!"

"Here it comes."

"Oh boy!" The Jester began to savagely kick the body in the face. Soon, the head had been reduced to a pile of red mush.

"Yah know," Harley observed, "yer bein' really violent at tha moment. As a formah psychiatrist, I think I know what tha problahm is."

"Oh?" the Jester inquired, tensing himself.

"Yeah. Yer afraid! Yer afraid of Mistah J and tha Bat, but yah don't want ta admit it! So yer turning yer feah inta rage in ordah to seem unafraid! But it's cleah that—" She cried out as the Jester whirled around and began to beat her savagely.

"I…am afraid," he snarled, "of nothing! Nothing!" He grabbed her by the throat. "But, apparently, I need to teach you some respect for authority." Harley's eyes began to fill with tears as he loosened her costume. He paused, and she breathed a silent prayer of thanks. "Hmm." Keeping his hand on her throat, he turned and looked at the monitors. "You're lucky, Harleen. There are visitors confronting my remaining henchman. There isn't enough time for your lesson…not today, anyway." He grinned. "We'll cover it in the next class period."

* * *

Chad was becoming depressed. He was working for a psychopath, his best friend was dead, and he had been lying to his girlfriend for the past few months. At this point, he had stopped caring that the Jester was going to send him to meet up with Joe. Seeing the world through a haze of tears, he couldn't have been expected to see the two heads watching him from around the corner. 

"You know," the Joker said as he and Batman watched Chad sob and sniffle, "he looks rather soft. I bet that, if we beat him up a little—well, let's not mince words, if we beat him up a lot, he'll tell us where the Jester is hiding."

Batman shook his head. "I have another idea. Stay here…" With that, he slipped off. Keeping to the shadows, he was able to get within ten feet of the sobbing henchman. Just as he was about to grab Chad, he heard whistling. Chad stiffened and looked to where the Joker was turning the corner. Batman cursed silently.

Whistling nonchalantly, the Joker approached the open pipe. Pretending to notice Chad for the first time, he acted surprised. "What ho, good citizen!" he bellowed. "Wherefore in our humble waterworks when Night so grips the land art thou?"

Chad couldn't believe his eyes. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before he finally found his voice. "You…what are you doing here?"

The Joker laughed, but it was not his usual whooping cackle. It was a fat, jolly laugh. "Oh-ho-oh-ho!" he chuckled. "Methought 'twould of benefit to health be to thus take an evening stroll. But, come! Not yet my question answered hast thou."

Chad's forehead creased with thought. Suddenly, he realized something worrying. "Wait, aren't you working…with…oh, Christ." He turned to run.

Batman stood in his way.

The Joker reached over and patted Chad kindly on the shoulder. "Now, come! Thee…wait, thou…no, thine…aw, shit. Whatever." The Joker sighed. "I guess that shtick is done. _Any_way, your life isn't necessarily forfeit. You just need to tell us where the Je—where that impostor is."

Chad quivered with fear. Here he was, trapped between a bone-white murderer and a cloaked avatar of justice, and he didn't have the answer to their question. "I…I dunno," he managed. The Joker grimaced.

"Wrong answer," he sighed. His hand darted out like a snake, squeezed Chad's left shoulder with more force than such a scrawny man should have had, and then returned to his side. Chad screamed in agony. Nodding in understanding, the Joker grinned. He felt this man's pain…and he liked it. "You still have three functioning limbs," he pointed out. "Let me ask you again…where is the faker?"

"I don't know!" Shaking his head, the Joker darted his hand to Chad's right shoulder and squeezed once more. Chad screamed again.

"Wrong!" the Joker shouted. "Two more chances." Batman grabbed the Joker's hand.

"He doesn't know," Batman growled. "Leave him." The Joker returned the crime fighter's glare. As the two stared each other down, the Joker slid his hand towards his pocket.

After a moment, the tension passed. Breaking eye contact with Batman, the Joker turned away from Chad and began to pout. Batman turned back to Chad, who was crying again.

"There were ten of us…" the henchman murmured. "But…he killed the…the other nine…" Batman slid handcuffs onto Chad's wrists, securing him to a pipe.

"I'm sorry about…him," he apologized, nodding his head towards the Joker. "And these…these are for your protection more than anything else." Chad nodded in understanding.

* * *

"Damn, damn, damn, damn!" the Jester shouted. "You can't get any good help these days! Henchmen shouldn't just fold up and cry, they should fight back! Sacrifice their lives for the greater cause! Give the boss time to run like all Hell! Something, anything!" 

"Yah know," Harley quipped from her chair, "yer right."

The Jester paused in mid-tirade. "I…I'm right?"

"Yeah. It's such a damn pity that, aftah yah've killed most a them, tha last one doesn't have tha decency ta lay his life down fah yah! Maybe if yah had more than that one left, yah'd have time fah yer great escape!"

Considering this, the Jester brightened. "Oh, Harleen, but I _do_ have more!" He pulled a radio from his pocket, and then keyed the transmitter. "Hello," he began, "I'd like to order some food for pick-up, please."

"What tha Hell are yah talkin' about?" Harley demanded from the chair.

"What would you like?" a voice responded from the radio.

_And so_, the Jester thought, _my escape route opens._ "I'd like a baked duck, a sliced crumpet, and the finest steak. Oh, yes, and a packet of the…special sauce."

"Anything else?"

"No, that's it. The name is Rufus."

"It should be ready in five minutes." He turned the radio off.

"Hmm. Five minutes to get to the roof without running into those two." The Jester grinned. "Oh, I do love a good race!"

* * *

"But Batsy," the Joker wheedled, "you let him off too easily! He probably knew something…you should have let me go after his legs!" 

"Hush," Batman commanded. "Do you hear that?"

_Thwupthwupthwupthwupthwupthwup._

"A helicopter?" the Joker asked.

"Yes, I think so. Let's get to the roof." The two darted to the stair and ran up. Bursting through the doors, they saw the Jester, with Harley and Crane at his feet. He hadn't noticed them, as he was watching the helicopter approach. Batman prepared to sneak up on the criminal.

As usual, the Joker interrupted his planning.

"**Hey!**" he shouted above the noise of the helicopter. "**Faker! Over here! It's about damn time that I taught you who's the clown in this town!** Ooh, that rhymed," he noted to himself. "I should write that down."

"**Hah!**" the Jester shouted back. "**You two are too late! The water supply is already tainted!**"

"**We'll find a way to get through it**," Batman replied. "**We always do.**" The Jester stamped his foot.

"**Find a way to get through it?**" he shouted incredulously. "**I'm standing here, plotting to drive an entire city insane, and you talk about 'finding a way through it?' Morons! I'm opposed by morons!**" The helicopter dropped a ladder next to him. The Jester grabbed onto it, then lifted Crane and Harley with his other arm. "**We've got to dash, but don't worry! I'll drop you a little pres**—" Batman hurled a Batarang at the hanging villain. It struck the arm that was holding the cracked comedian's prisoners. Cursing, the villain dropped them. "**Damn! Well, you can have them…they don't really have any use to me now! Okay, boys, take me up!**"

As the helicopter began to ascend, Batman and the Joker rushed over to the two bodies.

"**All right, boys!**" the Jester shouted. "**Drop Crane's barrel!**"

"Fear toxin…" Batman murmured in realization. "Come on, Joker…we can't leave these two behind, but we're going to have to run like Hell."

When the police arrived, they found the waterworks nearly deserted. Working their way through in gasmasks, the officers found only a few dozen barrels. Finally, a shout came from one of the passages. A man had been discovered chained to a pipe, screaming, "Not a man! A bat! A goddamn bat!"

* * *

I'm awake this time, so I can tell you stuff that I couldn't before. Chapter seven actually marked the halfway point for the story. You know what's amazing about that? 

It means that I wrote half of this story without actually knowing what the Jester was going to do for his big crime.

Other news, which came to light in last week's dedication. I have a girlfriend, and she is amazingly awesome.

I was going to say some other things, but I forgot what they were

Live long and prosper.

Dracheheim


	9. And Thou Shall Have More

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the _Batman_ franchise or any related characters. But the Jester is mine.

* * *

_There is no sound more relaxing_, the man thought, _than that of waves crashing on a beach._

It had been a wonderful, lazy day for the man. After a brisk morning run, he had spent a pleasant few hours swimming in the glimmering waters that surrounded the island. He was now lying in the sun-baked sand while a native woman, whose lap was serving the man as a pillow, ran her fingers through his tousled hair. As she played with his curls, she hummed a jubilant, soul-lifting tune that the man recognized as Holst's "Jupiter: The Bringer of Jollity." It had been a wonderful, lazy day.

He became aware that the woman was speaking. "Darling," she asked him, "what do you think?"

"Maybe," he mumbled to her sleepily, "we could head back to the cabana a bit later, eh?" He yawned contentedly. "We could have a few drinks, perhaps, and then see where the night decides to take us."

"What the Hell is he talking about?" a nearby boulder growled. The man was hazily aware that this wasn't normal. _Surely_, he thought, _a boulder would be more perceptive._ His companion bristled at the boulder's impatience.

"He's had a long day," she snapped defensively. "He needs his rest." The man nodded to himself lazily. "You can't expect him to figure everything out…"

"Well, he reached a conclusion on the last issue pretty quickly," the boulder retorted indignantly. _My_, the man thought,_ what an irritable rock. I wonder if it has troubles at home?_

Before the woman could respond to the boulder's statement, a coconut sitting next to the boulder began to ring. Reaching out a stony appendage, the stone answered the nut. "Hello? Yes, of course it is. What's the matter?" There was a pause as the boulder listened to the coconut.

_How rude,_ the man thought. _He's in mixed company, yet he answers his phone and ignores us._

"Wait, who?" the boulder suddenly asked the coconut. "He was _what_? Do you think it was…? All right. Of course." He hung up the coconut.

_Wait a minute_, the man reasoned, _that's definitely _not _right. The boulder hung up without saying "goodbye?" No way. That just does not fit._ With that startling realization, the illusion began to dissipate.

* * *

_Drip_.

_All right_, the Joker thought, _I'm not on the beach. I'm in the Batcave. The boulder is Batman, not a rock. And the woman is…Harley?_

_What's she doing here?_

_Oh, that's right. When we dropped Crane at Arkham, she refused to leave me. She couldn't stand to be apart from her "Puddin'" after what the Jester had put her through…_

_Wait, this still doesn't explain the key issue. Why the Hell didn't Batman say goodbye when he hung up the coconut?_

"Well," Batman began, derailing the Joker's train of thought, "this is worrying."

"What is it?" the Joker yawned. _I think I want the island back._

"Jake Katoves…has been killed."

"Who's this Jake guy?" Harley interrupted. "How is he mahr impahtant than the othah stiffs?"

"Jake Katoves is…was, I guess, one of the lab workers for the Gotham Police Department. He was handling the chemical work for this Jester case."

"Who killed him?" the Joker asked sleepily. _Seriously, Brain. I want my sunny beach retreat back. Start hallucinating already._

"Who do you think?"

All thoughts of beaches, sunny or otherwise, flew from the Joker's mind. He sat up, startling Harley in the process. Shaking his fist in the air, he screamed the name of his current foe. "JEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESTEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEER!"

Batman shook his head despondently, ignoring the Joker's outburst. "Katoves was working on a cure for the Joker Venom when the Jester killed him. Unfortunately, our new enemy lit the lab on fire when police cornered him, so all of the work that Katoves had done has been lost. We're back to square one on that issue."

The Joker shrugged as he returned to the comfort of Harley's lap. "Eh, that's not too important right now," the reclining clown opined. "What we should be spending our breath on is this guy's next move. How does he plan to drive the whole city insane?"

The three sat quietly as each attempted to predict the Jester's plan.

_Drip_._ Drip_.

"Eureka!" the Joker cried, sitting up once again. "I have it! I _have_ it!" The other two looked at him expectantly. "Don't you see?" the Joker asked ecstatically. "It's so simple! He'll…"

"Yes?" Batman inquired. Despite his long-standing mistrust of the clown, he was willing to listen to any idea.

"He'll…" the Joker began. After a moment, the crestfallen Clown Prince of Crime sighed. "Damn. Usually, I manage to have an idea by the time that I get that far into the sentence." He lowered himself back down, avoiding Batman's glare.

"You can't just hope that you'll have some random idea!" the vexed crime fighter barked. "This isn't a game! There are lives on the line…the entire damn city is on the line, and you just sit there and hope that some random idea will pop into your head!"

The Joker nodded morosely, closing his eyes as he began to speak. "You're right," he managed. "The whole city…" He opened his eyes. "And if_anyone_ is going to drive Gotham to the very brink of madness, the edge between sanity and chaos…it will be _me_. I have been blessed with the madness of prophets. He's just a cheap knock-off with bells on his hat." As he spoke, the Joker's left eye began to twitch. Harley continued to play with his hair. "He's asking for it, you know. That's right, Batsy, he's _asking_ for it! Oh, yes! He took my venom, he took my gimmick, he took my girl, he took my toys, he tried to take my life, and he _now_ plans to take my ultimate victory!" His eyes flew open, staring at the ceiling, while spittle began to fly from his rapidly-speaking mouth. "Oh, no! Not today, Bell-Boy! You had a chance, but you threw it away! You decided to piss off the _Joker_!" Harley was knocked aside as the Joker flew up and began to strangle the air. "_Ting-a-ling!_ Yes, Jester! That's the sound of the life fleeing your bells! _Ting-a-ling! Ting-a-ling, you son of a bitch!_"

Harley grabbed the frenzied Joker by the leg. "Mistah J," she sobbed, "cahlm down! Yer havin' a fit!"

The Joker ignored her as his twisted fantasy reached its climax. Shaking free from her grasp, he began to cackle. As his twisted, screeching whoops echoed through the Batcave, he screamed, "_This is __**my **__town!_"

_Thock!_

He found himself on the floor with no memory of how he came to be there. As he lifted himself onto his knees, he became aware of an ache in his jaw. Cradling the injured mandible, he looked up.

He looked up into the wrathful glare of Batman.

"You…you hit me," the Joker stammered, gently rubbing his cheek.

The Dark Knight stood over the prostrate clown, poised to punch him again. "You're right," he growled. "I did. I am running out of patience, Joker. I am running out of tolerance for your twisted jokes and reprobate games. There is no time for you to play." He turned to Harley and calmed himself down before he spoke. "Are you sure," he asked, "that you don't know anything about the Jester's plan?"

Harley blinked out of her shock. "Uh…yeah. All Ah heahd frahm tha bastahd was that he was wahkin' on sahmthin' that he thaht was gonna drive all a Gotham insane."

"You don't know anything else?"

Harley shrugged. "Ah wahsn't too keen ahn drawin' his attention, Bats. Yah understahnd. He tried ta rape me twice…"

"What?" the Joker asked, freezing in his tracks. "He…_what_? Oh, no. No, no, no…" Batman grabbed the clown before he could fly into another fit.

"No," he growled into the Joker's ear. "You don't have time for another frenzy, Joker. If you want to get this guy, we need to work quickly."

Blinking, the Joker nodded. After a moment, he began to chuckle. "Oh, we'll get him," he laughed. "We'll get him…and, when we do, he's mine. Do you hear me, Batsy? The police aren't getting this bastard. He's _mine_. It's going to be just the two of us…just him and me. It's going to be fun…and it's going to be niiiiiiiiice"—the Joker said, smacking his lips—"and slooooooow."

"Wait," Harley interrupted. "Ah do remembah sahmthin' else…neah the end, he stahted to keep a lath mahre barrels around tha warehouse where he had us tied up. He nevah talked about them ta me or Scarecrow…but, when Ah heahd him talkin' to his grunts, Ah think that he cahlled them his 'laughin' gas.' Ah mean, Ah assumed that it wahs his vahsion a Mistah J's venom, but…"

Batman dropped the Joker and turned to his supercomputer. "I understand, Harley. It's an easy mistake to make." _Click, click, click._ A map of the city appeared on the computer's screen. "But, if this 'laughing gas' is his way of driving Gotham insane, he's going to need some form of distribution. Perhaps some kind of aircraft…"

The Joker ambled over to the computer, all violence forgotten for the moment. "No, Batsy," he replied. "You're still not thinking."

"Enlighten me, then. What is the great secret?" Batman asked sardonically.

"Just think about it," the Joker sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Sure, he has a costume and a name, but this Jester guy generally works under the radar. You think that he's just going to sit there, floating above Gotham? It's far too obvious for him. Besides, it's inefficient."

"Then what _will_ he do?"

"It's hard to say. It's almost impossible to guess what method he'll use to disperse the gas without knowing its density. If the gas is heavy, he'd want to place the source above the city, so that it would flow downwards. If it's light, though, it would float upwards, so he'd want to place it below the city…"

The phone began to ring. Batman answered it quickly in order to prevent the Joker from snatching it. The clown, however, seemed more interested in studying the map of the city.

"Bruce, it's Selina."

_Thank God_, he thought to himself, _a lead_. "Hello, Selina," he said aloud. "What kind of news do you have?"

The Joker looked away from the map and clapped his hands excitedly. "Well, well, well! Selina Kyle! What fun, what fun! Our old friend Catwoman has joined the game!"

"What?" Selina asked. "Wait, is that…the Joker?"

"Yes," Batman replied. "It's a long story…one that I'll explain later. What did you call to tell me?"

"What? Oh, yes. It's the Jester. He's been doing something big in the sewers, bringing in barrels and installing pipes in the walls. Unfortunately, I can't tell you any more than that. My informant was killed shortly after reporting to me."

"Jesus…right, well, I'm heading over to the sewers now. Keep yourself safe…if the Jester caught your informant, he may come after you next." He hung up the phone. "All right, Joker, let's go. I'll call Gordon on the way there."

As Batman climbed into the Batmobile, he turned to Harley, who had followed the two old enemies to the vehicle. "You're staying here, Harley."

"What? No!" Harley cried. "Ah know mahre about this guy than either a yah! Ah've spent the mahst time with tha crazy bastahd!"

"Yes, but he might try to capture you again," Batman explained. "Besides, I need someone here in case he sends henchmen in while I'm out. I don't want him to have my computer bugged again. It's…an important job."

"Well," Harley began, mollified, "Ah guess…if it's really impahtant ta gettin' this guy…"

"Oh, Harls!" the Joker said. "You really are wonderful." He walked over and then placed his hand on the side of her face. "Don't fight it, my dear," he said, pinching the pale cheek with affection, "It'll be over soon. Goodbye, darling!"

* * *

Right. So, we're drawing rapidly toward the conclusion. There are five chapters left in this puppy, and then I'll figure out what the Hell I'm doing next.

Originally, I planned for the Joker to actually have an idea as to what the Jester planned to do, but I couldn't think of anything good. I wanted something that would, in fact, drive the whole city insane, but would be silly and impractical…but not so much that the Joker wouldn't try it on his own time. Everything I came up with was too foolish, though.

Now that I think about it, I should have done something with elevator music. Oh, well.

Live long and prosper.

Dracheheim


	10. Than Two Tens to a Score

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the _Batman_ franchise or any related characters. I do not own the songs in this chapter, to whit: "I Could Have Danced All Night," "Shine a Light," and "The Star Spangled Banner." I do, however, own the Jester and his henchmen.

* * *

"_Could have danced all night,_" Alfred sang to himself as he polished the Wayne family silver,"_could have danced all night,_ oh, dear, what did Master Bruce do to this fork?" he asked, examining the offending silverware carefully. "_And still have begged for more._

_I could have spread my wings, and done a thousand things_

_I've never done before_" he continued as he diligently polished the stained utensil. "There we are. _I'll never know what made it so exciting,  
Why all at once my heart took flight.  
I only know, when she began to dance with me  
I could have danced, danced, danced, danced, danced all ni_—" He was interrupted by the sound of the phone ringing. Knowing that the phone would ring six times before directing the call to the answering machine, Alfred carefully dried his hands before answering. It simply would not _do_ to get silver polish on the phone. He answered the phone just as it rang for the third time. "Wa—" he began.

"Hello, old friend," a familiar voice interrupted. Alfred picked up on the code immediately; with the Joker in the Batmobile with him, Master Bruce simply couldn't risk an exposure of his secret identity. The butler proceeded accordingly.

"Ah, hello, Batman. It is an honor, as always. What do you require?"

"I'd like you to go to the surveillance room and watch the cave. I left Harley Quinn in there. She should be fine, but I'd feel more comfortable if you would keep an eye on her."

"Of course, sir."

"Thank you," Batman said as he hung up. Alfred prepared himself a quick cup of tea, and then walked into Master Bruce's study. Running his eyes over the eastern bookshelves, he found the volume for which he was looking. Removing the copy of _A Mencken Chrestomathy_, the old butler pushed inwards on the bookcase. After a moment, the wall began to slowly swing back.

He entered the surveillance room, swinging the wall shut behind him. "Computer," Alfred requested, "open the Batcave feed." With a faint hum, the screens activated and began to show him the interior of Batman's sanctum. He slowly sipped his tea as he watched Harley.

After a few moments, Harley stood up. She purposefully strode towards the supercomputer and began to type. Alfred keyed the intercom. "Ah, Miss Quinzel," he began. Harley was visibly startled. "We would be _most_ gratified," Alfred continued, "if you chose _not_ to touch that. Thank you."

Harley looked around carefully for a few moments, then her voice crackled over the speakers in the surveillance room. "Aw, it's juhst sahm system tha Bat has set up," she assured herself. "It'll juhst play the sahm message if Ah go back."

"I assure you, Miss, I am a living, breathing person," Alfred retorted over the intercom. "Hold up a few fingers, if you would be so good." Harley hesitantly raised three fingers. "Three. Now, be a good girl and sit still until Mast—Batman and…Mr. Joker return."

* * *

"_Saw you stretched out in room ten-o-nine_," Jim Gordon sang softly to himself as he filled out the paperwork for Gotham's finest. "_With a smile on your face  
And a tear right in your eye_. What on earth?" Gordon asked as he reached an odd entry. "…oh, yes. That business six months ago…_Couldn't see to get a line on you, my sweet honey love.  
Berber, jewelry jangling down the street,  
making bloodshot eyes at every woman that you meet._ Hmm? Oh, yes, of course. The officer who was…infected by Clayface. _Come out baby to get a high on you, my sweet honey love.  
May the good Lord shine a light on you,  
Make every song you sing your favorite tune.  
May the good Lord shine a li_—" Gordon's paperwork was interrupted by the ringing of the phone on his desk. "Thank Christ," he muttered as he sipped his coffee. He answered the phone just as it rang for the second time. "Police Commissioner Gordon," he announced into the phone." 

"Gordon, it's me." Gordon closed his eyes and breathed a faint prayer of relief.

"Yes, Batman?"

"Have you been able to glean anything from the remnants of the lab?"

"No," Gordon replied, shaking his head. "It was completely destroyed by the fire. The computer is thoroughly ruined…my men tell me that not even a microchip was left in working order."

"What about Katoves?" The police commissioner sighed heavily.

"The fire also damaged his body. Erica has very little left to work with…but what about you? Do you have any big news for us?"

"The Jester is planning to deploy a gaseous neurotoxin from the sewers that would drive the entire city insane. Is that big enough for you?" Gordon whistled involuntarily.

"The…the whole city?" he breathed. "Jesus. That's…that's…Jesus. Is there anything that we can do?"

"Yes. Send teams with gasmasks out across the city. We need to hand them out to civilians. Get everyone—everyone, even the drunks and whores on the docks—off of the streets. Issue advisories to the public telling them to stay indoors."

"Anything more that we can do?"

"Anything you can, old friend."

"…what about you?" Gordon asked. "What are you going to be doing during all of this?"

"The Joker and I are going into the sewers in order to pay the Jester a little visit. Hopefully, we'll be able to stop him before he releases the gas, but…"

"All right. I understand…I'll send out the teams now."

"Thank you."

"Good luck," Gordon said as Batman hung up the phone. The commissioner grabbed his mug of coffee, drained it, and then slammed it back onto his desk. He strode out into the hall. "Sergeant Bullock!" he yelled. After a few moments, the sergeant appeared.

"Right here, Commish," he responded easily. "Whadda you need?" Gordon laughed hollowly.

"What do I need? I need every officer that we have. Every damn deputy that we have. Everyone. And I need them with gasmasks…we need to distribute them to civilians."

"Woah, Commish. What's happening?"

"What's happening? The Jester is planning to gas the whole damn city, _that_'s what's happening." Bullock's eyes widened.

"The whol…? Jesus." He turned, and then bellowed down the hall. "Everyone, get ready to pound some pavement! There are people out there who need gasmasks, and we're cleaning up the town! Call anyone who isn't here and tell them that _everyone_ is on duty starting now!" As the police force began to prepare itself to fortify the city against the Jester's noxious onslaught, Bullock noticed Gordon grabbing gasmasks along with the corporals. "Uh…Commish?"

"Yes?" Gordon asked.

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Gordon spat as he put on his coat. "I'm coming with the men, of course."

"Ahh….you think that you'll be needed?"

"I think that_everyone_ will be needed. Besides, sergeant, it's best to be safe in matters such as this. If the Jester doesn't kill Batman…the Joker might." He loaded his gun, and then checked the safety catch. "All right," he growled, "let's do some good."

* * *

"_O say can you see_," Dr. Cavendish murmured to himself as he read a small, leather-bound journal. "_By the dawn's early light?_" He sipped at his Rioja Gran Reserva and turned the page. "_What so proudly we hailed_—hem," he coughed. The phone rang as he continued to cough. He answered the phone just after it rang for the first time. "Dr. Caven—hem, excuse me, Dr. Cavendish speaking." 

"Hello, it's me…Batman." Dr. Cavendish's eyes narrowed, but he kept his tone polite and pleasant.

"Oh, hello, Batman. If this is about poor Dr. Miller…"

"It isn't. It's about the new villain…the Jester."

"Oh," said Cavendish, glaring at the journal. "So, you've caught another madman to fee—to send to us?"

"No, not yet. This is about his master plan…he plans to disperse a neurotoxin gas that would drive the entire city to the brink of insanity." Cavendish lost his air of distaste and stared at the portrait of Amadeus Arkham on the wall as he attempted to grasp the full scale of what he was being told.

"…the…whole city?"

"Yes. I—we hope to stop him, though. The Joker and myself plan to go after him tonight."

"Oh, yes. The Joker. I had nearly forgotten that you had taken him," Cavendish said politely while he sneered at the lamp on his desk. There was a brief sound on the other end, and then a new voice spoke.

"Oh, hello, Charlie!" the Joker gushed. "I'm _sure_ that you're wondering how your poor, little lost lamb is faring out here in the harsh, cruel world, eh? Well, I'm doing fairly well…but," and here the Joker's voice dropped to a husky whisper, "I miss our sessions back in the ECT room. I tried sticking a fork in an electrical outlet, but it's just not the same. There isn't the human element that I feel when _you_ are the one sending hundreds of volts through my body. I miss you Charlie, and I—" There was another noise. Batman returned to the line.

"Sorry about that," the crime fighter explained. "He grabbed the phone from me."

"I quite understand," Cavendish lied.

"Anyway, we hope to stop the Jester, but he may get his toxin to some parts of the city. Would you be able to handle a small influx of inmates? Gordon is sending out teams of police to distribute gasmasks to the people of the city, but there's always the possibility that a few people might be overlooked." Cavendish narrowed his eyes once more.

"We _might_ be able to handle a few dozen," he managed. "Nothing on a large scale, and certainly not permanently. We don't have the resources." The asylum administrator began to pick at his fingernails as he glared at the journal on his desk. "I hope it doesn't come to that, though. The inmates have been restless lately…if we take in more, they may revolt. We try to contain these mad presences, but sometimes we fail…" As if he had just heard what he was saying, Cavendish straightened in his chair and closed the journal.

"I'll try to prevent the release of the gas, Cavendish," Batman promised, "but a handful of people may be affected. I just felt that you should be warned." Cavendish took another drink of his wine as Batman hung up.

After a moment, Cavendish put the journal in his desk drawer. As he ruffled through the papers on his desk, he muttered an imprecation. After comparing various different papers, he opened his door. "Send Dr. Adams to me," he barked at his secretary before withdrawing once more to his office. Several minutes later, he heard a tentative knock at his door. "Come in, Dr. Adams." The worried-looking face of Ruth Adams peered into the office. "Enter," Cavendish ordered her. She obeyed.

"You, uh, wanted me?" she asked quietly.

"Yes. I'm sure that you know that Dr. Miller was shot."

"Yes," Ruth sighed. "It's so sad, really…" Cavendish interrupted her sentiment.

"Unfortunately, this means that her patients are left without a doctor."

"Um, yes?"

"Patients including the Joker." Dr. Adams began to look uneasy and she began to shift from one foot to the other. "I just received a call from the…Batman," Cavendish continued. "The affairs that have led our hero to remove the Joker from Arkham are quickly approaching their end. He will be _back_ soon," Cavendish stated pointedly as he shuffled his papers, "and I'm assigning him to you."

Dr. Adams turned pale. After a brief pause, she worked up the courage to speak. "Am I…am I being punished for something?" she finally managed.

"Punished?" Cavendish inquired, raising an eyebrow. "You think that you're being punished? Why would you be punished? As I understand it, your work with Harvey Dent has been groundbreaking!" His tone turned nasty. "Really, Dr. Adams! The man can no longer make the decision to relieve himself!" Dr. Adams bowed her head in submission. Cavendish calmed down. "Yes, this is a slight punishment. But, more than that, it is a _learning_ experience for you. You need to learn how to deal with a _real_ madman, who can't simply be paralyzed by the removal of a coin. You are dismissed."

* * *

The Joker slammed his hand onto the phone before it had time to even consider ringing. "No more phone calls!" he cried. "I'm _bored_! Are we going yet? I've been sitting here, humming Beethoven's Ninth Symphony for nearly half an hour!" 

"Control yourself," Batman ordered. "This isn't some kind of goddamn _field trip_." The Joker giggled.

"Oh, really, Batsy! When you spend all of your time in a rubber room, _everything_ is a field trip!"

"Just…just go." The two exited the Batmobile and Batman pointed at the sewer pipe. "In. Now."

"Fine," assented the Joker, crawling into Gotham's sewage system and then splashing into the gloom. Batman followed him, and then quickly lost sight of the clown in the darkness.

"Joker?" There was no response. "Damn," Batman swore. He wouldn't be able to face Gordon if the Joker escaped from him. He hurried off into the bowels of the city.

* * *

When Batman finally caught up with the Joker, the clown was standing above the prone body of a weeping man, illuminated by an electronic lamp clipped to fresh-looking pipes hammered into the walls. The clown was giggling and holding the man's left pinky finger. "Now, this is your last finger," the Joker enthused, "so it might behoove you to cooperate." 

"Please," moaned the man. "I already…"

"Tell me where the Jester is!"

"Joker!" Batman bellowed. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm interrogating this man to find out where the Jester is! I've already broken both of his legs and most of his fingers. This is"—_snap_. The man screamed. "Sorry, that _was_ the last finger. All that I've learned is that the Jester is down this pipe in a large, well-lit room and that this man is the only henchman left."

Batman stared at the Joker. "He…told you everything, but you still…"

"Of course!" the Joker grinned. "It wouldn't be _fun_ otherwise, now would it?"

The crime fighter grabbed the clown and propelled him down the pipe. "Just…just go. Jesus…"

They moved down the pipe towards the Jester. As the man lay weeping on the ground, the merciful darkness swallowed everything.

* * *

All right, so… 

I may not be able to promise a chapter next week. Or the next. My girlfriend left me, so I'm in a bit of an emotional problem spot.

I'm not giving much away in these notes on purpose, by the way. I want you to figure things out by yourself. That being said, once I finish this story, I'm also going to post a segment entitled "Collected Notes" at the end of Chapter XIV that will contain a general overview of the entire story, in both formal details and references.

Live long and prosper.

Dracheheim


	11. Fools Had Ne'er Less Grace in a Year

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the _Batman_ franchise or any related characters. The Jester is mine.

* * *

"Echo…echo…echo!" the Joker sang. 

"Be quiet!" Batman hissed. Things were not going well. After several attempts of the Joker to run ahead, Batman had grabbed the criminal by the arm and was holding him tightly to prevent escape. The two had been winding through Gotham's sewers for nearly half an hour, and the crime fighter had lost his patience with the Joker long ago.

After fumbling in the dark for so long, it had become apparent to Batman that they had clearly gotten lost.

"We're lost," the Joker had been whining for the past ten minutes. Batman's mood finally snapped.

"Listen," he growled, "if you don't pull yourself together, so help me…" He was interrupted in mid-sentence as the two turned a corner and were dazzled by a sudden light.

"I don't think that we're lost anymore," the Joker murmured.

In the space created by the intersection of several large pipes, someone had been busy preparing for this moment. One wall was covered with a large computer system, which was hooked up to several machines that fed into the smaller pipes that had been installed throughout the sewers. Someone had thrown used supplies to the other side of the intersection, creating a veritable obstacle course of crates and barrels. In the middle of the area, someone had placed a throne on a large platform.

_Someone_ recline in the throne with a quarterstaff across his lap, grinning at them and playing with his bells.

"I'm so glad that you could come. _So_ glad that you could make it," the Jester stated, spinning his weapon in his left hand.

"It ends here," Batman snapped. The Jester laughed his incongruous laugh.

"Oh, yes," he enthused, "it does. But it ends rather differently than you imagine…"

Batman reconsidered his position. "What is it that you want?" he inquired. The Jester laughed again.

"What do I want? Nothing." He stopped laughing and his demeanor grew serious. "Well, nothing that you can give me. I want to show people what they _truly_ are…to show mankind its reflection." Waving his hand in the air languidly, he continued, "their lives are madness—utter _madness_. They have no goals, no reasons, and no purpose. They exist as an accidental blot on the sheet of the universe. There is no master plan guiding humanity…just people running their lives into the ground. Yet, they go on. _That_ is truly insane. And they know it! Oh, yes, they know it! And they all ignore it and deal with it privately, in their own little, dirty ways. Still, they know it. They try and hide it in masturbation and nymphomania, but…they can't hide." He sighed deeply. "They are wrong to try. Only when madness is recognized—dragged into the light and shoved in people's faces—can a true society exist. We must drag these skeletons from humanity's closet so that men realize that their madness is _not_ something that keeps them apart, but one more similarity holding them _together_."

"What will this accomplish?" the Joker quipped. "Even if you drive my—_my_ city insane, that won't prove anything." The Jester shook his head.

"You don't see it, do you? If we allow madness in public, it will not be funneled into evil urges. Instead, men will be able to live properly. In purity. By exposing the madness within all men, I set the stage for the creation of a glorious new society, rebuilt in ecstasy. I shall be lamb, messiah, and deliverer for this new age of humanity. Gotham shall be my utopia, my 'city upon a hill,' that will show the rest of the world how madness purifies men. Humans will be able to say what they think and act upon their feelings. There would be no more need to lie." He pointed at the Joker. "I set myself up as his foil. Every coin has its other side, every hero has his demon. His mental state has been described as the next step in the development of human consciousness, so I replicated it. I created myself as the Odin to his Loki. As Odin hung for nine days to bring knowledge to the people, so will I, for nine days, bring knowledge of madness to the people. But, as Loki is the contriver of all frauds,_he_ is the damned madness, the madness that will chain the people."

"You are no hero!" the Joker spat in rage. "You're on the same side of the coin as I am! You take pleasure in death and torture just as much as I do…and with as little reason. Your actions are not those of a hero, but those of a villain like me. I know myself to be a villain," he laughed, "and I revel in it. Yes! I _revel_ in it! But you…you deny it! You coat your villainy in sugar and hope that it will be swallowed more easily. You make me sick. You lack any honor, stealing from your fellow criminals…"

"You are _not_ my fellow!" the Jester shouted, pounding his fist upon his throne. "You are a demon, which I shall overcome! I kill for pleasure, yes. The basis of my new order is unleashed emotion. My glorious Bacchanal will usher in a new age! I have been remade by my divine dementia, recast as God's servant!"

"What of us?" Batman asked quietly. "We have been brought into your web and stand at its center. What will you do with us?"

"He must die," the Jester said, glaring at the Joker. "He is the dragon, the beast of the Revelation. His death will be my triumph, the beginning of the new age." He shifted his gaze to Batman. "But you…you, Batman…or may I call you Mr. Wa—"

"Batman," the hero asserted.

"Oh, very well. I will retain the pretense for now. As I was saying, you can be salvaged. Imagine! A world without crime, a world of love! A world…where no parents would ever be shot. Isn't that what you've been working for? And you, the Batman, would sit at the right hand of God's servant. Well?"

Batman shifted uncomfortably. He could hear voices, voices that had died years ago. His mother. Bruce could remember the feel of her skin, always soft against his cheek as she tucked him into bed. And his father…a powerful presence, but not unwilling to spend time with his son. Bruce could remember the feel of his father's stubble on his forehead as he kissed him goodnight…

Lost in thought, Batman looked over at the Joker. His eyes met those of his oldest foe for the briefest moment, yet it was long enough for a basic understanding to pass between the two men.

"No," Batman whispered.

"Excellent!" the Jester cried. "I had hoped that you would see—"

"I said, 'no,'" Batman stated more assertively. The Jester blinked.

"You…what? No? I'm…well, to be honest, I'm flummoxed. You could have…ah, well." He stood, shifting his grip on his stave until it pointed at the two temporary allies. "In that case, you're in my way." He charged.

Batman ducked under the swinging stave while the Joker back flipped over it. The Clown Prince of Crime landed gracefully, and then charged forward, driving his shoulder into the stomach of the Jester. Unfortunately, the Prankish Pretender and turned his folding collapse into a backwards roll, kicking the Joker high into the air. The Joker landed on his back, severely winded.

A small noise caused the Jester to turn. He saw the Batarang just before it would have hit him and he dodged in clumsily.

_Tinkle._

The Jester looked solemnly at the severed bell that was lying by his foot. "You cut off my bell! 'You have to be awfully occupied with yourself to do a thing like that.' Hemingway." He ran towards Batman and, just as the hero dodged out of his path, spun in a counterclockwise circle. Batman took the stave in his side and fell to one knee. Before the Jester could prepare another strike, however, the hero grabbed the quarterstaff and pulled the Prankish Pretender onto the ground. He grabbed the villain's domino mask and ripped it from his face, revealing the sneering countenance of…

"Jake Katoves?" Batman muttered in surprise. "But…you're dead…" The Jester took advantage of this momentary confusion to lunge at Batman. He delivered a staggering blow to the hero's chin and cart wheeled into the shadows just as the Joker was preparing to pounce.

"Of course you think that I'm dead!" came a mocking lilt from the darkness. "That's what I _want_ you to think! All I had to do was smuggle a random body into the lab, disable the security cameras, and get in costume…once I lit the fire, the body became unidentifiable, and I simply had to avoid capture! I might have liked to stay in character a bit longer, but I really did need more time to install the new piping and, to be quite honest, being Jake Katoves was becoming _very_ dull."

"So, the whole time that we were looking…"

"Yes!" the Prankish Pretender cackled. "I was inside of the system. I knew where you were going to be looking next. Jesus Christ, this town is too damn easy!"

_Whizz._

Batman pulled the Joker to the ground and a crossbow bolt slammed into the wall above them.

"I had access to the police files," the Jester continued, "access to the best in chemical technology…and a grant from…guess who?" Batman growled at this last comment.

_Whizz._

Batman rolled to the left while the Joker rolled to the right. Each slid behind a crate as a bolt slammed into the ground where they had been lying.

Batman looked over at the Joker, who returned his gaze. The hero flicked his head towards the shadows. The villain nodded in understanding and scurried into the darkness.

_Whizz._

_Thunk._

A bolt quivered in the crate that the Joker had hidden behind.

"How did you find out who I am?" Batman inquired in order to buy time for the Joker. The Jester laughed.

"That one is your own damn fault. I had been _wondering_ how I was going to get a tracker on you. Then, you came into my lab and made it so damn _easy_. I slipped it into your belt while you were throttling me…I traced you to your cave, then sent my henchmen in to sabotage your computer while _you_ were out breaking into _my_ warehouse. Fitting, eh?"

_Whizz._

_Thunk._

A second bolt vibrated in the crate.

"You have to come out eventually," the Jester trilled. "You can't hide there forever, Joker."

"Why did you kidnap Crane and Harley, Katoves?" Batman asked. _What the hell is the Joker doing?_ he wondered.

"Oh, that one's simple. I needed Crane's formula to improve the Joker's venom…as well as to develop my 'laughing gas.' I took Harley in order to deprive the Joker of his resources when we reached the endgame. I didn't really count on you two teaming up. That was quite inconsiderate, really."

Batman tensed himself.

_Whizz._

_Thunk._

A third bolt quivered next to the first two, but Batman barely noticed it. He was already in the air, leaping towards the source of the Jester's voice.

_Whizz._

Batman screamed in agony as a bolt ripped through his left side. He fell onto the ground and crumpled in a heap. The Jester stepped out of the shadows, holding two crossbows.

"Honestly," the madman sighed. "How stupid do you think that I am? I knew that you'd try to time my bolts…that's why I had a second crossbow ready the whole time." An idea seemed to occur to him. "Oh, and don't worry about the poison. It's just a numbing and paralyzing agent. I wouldn't kill _you_. I want you to be alive to see your precious city reborn in glory. I want you to see what you could have been a part of." Batman groaned. Ignoring him, the Jester walked over to the crates. "Now, Joker…" he began, before noticing the absence of the clown.

The Joker jumped out of the shadows with a terrifying ululation. He leaped and landed on the Jester's back, throttling him. The Prankish Pretender flipped the Joker over his head and fired his remaining crossbow bolt at the Clown Prince of Crime, who turned his fall into a somersault and dodged the bolt.

"My," said the Jester, tossing aside his spent crossbows, "you _are_ persistent."

The Joker drew a knife and leapt, snarling, at the Prankish Pretender. The Jester attempted to dodge the blade, but took a deep cut to his right cheek. He cried out in pain, and then delivered a devastating uppercut. The Joker staggered back and slipped on the Jester's lost bell, landing on his back. Before he could recover, the Jester pounded on him and began to choke him, straddling his chest.

"Now," the Jester panted through the blood, "I will vanquish the demon…destroy the evil." As the Joker flailed about in defiance, his groping hand encountered the quarterstaff. He swung it in a lazy arc towards the Jester, who looked up too late. The stave connected with the Jester's skull and the Joker threw the Prankish Pretender off. The Joker charged the Jester as the latter began to recover. The Jester reached out and caught the arm that the Joker held above his head, ready to stab downwards with the dagger. The Joker's momentum, however, caused him to keep running.

There was a small, organic noise.

The two clowns stood facing each other for a long moment. After a while, the Joker blinked, and then looked down at his right side. The Jester held a needle that was plunged into the Joker's flesh. The Clown Prince of Crime could feel the poison flowing into his body. He looked back up and his eyes met those of the Jester. He began to laugh.

"You are an even bigger fool than the one you dress like," the Joker chortled. "Don't you know that I'm immune to nearly all poisons? _My_ venom has no effect, Crane's toxin has no effect…you can't poison me, moron! I was born from a toxic womb! I came forth changed, but unharmed!"

The Jester began to chuckle. The wound on his cheek gave him the appearance of a sneer. "Not quite, my foolish foe. I did an analysis of your blood. Your cells are resistant to most toxins, that is true. However…a sufficiently concentrated poison will overcome these resistances, as will a sufficient volume." He slid his sleeve up his arm, revealing a large pouch connected to the needle. "It would seem that you weren't prepared for the trick that I had up my sleeve…this is potent enough even for you!"

As the Jester laughed, the Joker began to feel cold. He fell to his knees and fought with the growing nausea.

"It appears," the Jester mocked, "that the hero is, indeed, triumphant. It's time for my kingdom to come." The Joker vomited.

"Rrrrr…" he muttered. The Jester bent over.

"Yes?" the triumphant trickster asked. "I wouldn't want to miss your final words."

The Joker's eyes flew open as he screamed his epitaph. "Ror roheht! Ror roheht!" He collapsed to the ground and was still. The Jester heard a grunt from behind him. He turned in time to see a Batarang fly past him. Batman was lying weakly on his side with his throwing arm outstretched. It had clearly taken his last strength to hurl that projectile.

"How sad," the Jester mourned. "With your last strength, you threw that weapon…but you missed."

"Hshhh…" Batman slurred. "Hshdidn'sht hshmissh…"

"You didn't miss?" The Jester turned to see the Batarang buried in the ruins of his computer, surrounded by cascading sparks and billowing smoke. "But…" he stammered in shock. "My…my better world…" His eyes narrowed. "You," he barked, turning back to Batman, "you ruined my plans." He walked over to the prone hero and began to savagely kick him in the face. "My future isn't ruined, oh no! I can reroute the circuits manually. But _you_…I'll have to fetch a special toy for you."

As the Jester walked into the sewer system, he passed the Joker. Hearing a slight moan from the prone clown, he squatted next to the body. "You're still alive?" he asked. "Don't fight it, my dear," he said, pinching the pale cheek with affection, "It'll be over soon. Goodbye, darling!"

* * *

So, that's done…only three chapters left. I'm really going to miss working on this. 

Oh, fictional conversation that I had:

Receptionist: "This is DC, how may I help you?"

Me: "Uh, yeah. I'm Dracheheim, and I'd like to speak with the head of DC."

Receptionist: "May I tell him why?"

Me: "Yeah, I kinda killed the Joker while you guys were looking in the other direction."

Receptionist: "…please hold for a moment."

Me: "Okay."

Live long and prosper.

Dracheheim


	12. For Wise Men Are Grown Foppish

**Disclaimer**: I still don't own the _Batman_ franchise or any related characters.

* * *

_There is a darkness. There is a void._

_I am floating. Floating in the void. In the darkness. I _am_ the darkness. And it is me. It fills me, births me. We are one. We dance a dance of unity._

_I am falling? Falling through the void. Falling through the darkness._

_Falling through myself._

_No, I am not falling…I am flying—soaring! I am the lord of the abyss!_

_I hit something. Paper flies everywhere. I snatch a piece as it flutters past me._

_It is a playing card._

_The Joker._

_I smile and the darkness smiles with me. I am the Joker, the Lord of Mirth. The God of Grins._

_I peer into the darkness and the void parts. Visions of…of the future? Is that what I am being shown?_

_A vision. I sit on a throne, ruling as an emperor._

_Another. Gotham city lies in ruins._

_Another. I am leading Batman through the twisted halls of a madhouse._

_Another. I am dying with the emblem of my enemy in my eye._

_I strain my vision, trying to look farther. I am thirsty for knowledge, but glimpses of the future fade._

_I am in the middle of the scattered cards. I drop the Joker and pick another card at random._

_It is the Jack of Hearts. The picture is that of Robin, Batman's sidekick…_

_There is a burst of knowledge and I am granted a vision._

_I am triggering an explosion that destroys a building. Robin is trapped inside._

_I laugh at this. I laugh at how the Batman must feel to know that his "son" has been killed by his greatest foe._

_Smiling, I drop the card. I grab another._

_It is the Queen of Spades. The picture is that of Harley Quinn, my punching bag._

_There is a burst of knowledge and I am granted a vision._

_I am beating her savagely. She interrupted my thinking and, for that, the dense cow must be punished. As her lips begin to bleed, she stammers, "Mis…Mistah J…"_

_I laugh at this. I laugh at how she loves me even though I hurt her so._

_Smiling, I drop the card. I grab another._

_It is the King of Clubs. The picture is that of Commissioner James Gordon, the head of the Gotham Police._

_There is a burst of knowledge and I am granted a vision._

_Gordon sits, naked, in the car of a ghost train at my carnival. I am driving him insane. He tries to look away, but my midget minions force him to look. He is crying._

_I laugh at this. I laugh at the psychological torment of a man who seeks to keep me behind bars._

_Smiling, I drop the card. I grab another._

_It is the Queen of Hearts. The picture is that of Batgirl, also known as Barbara Gordon._

_There is a burst of knowledge and I am granted a vision._

_I am standing over her naked body and photographing her as she bleeds into the carpet. I shot her, paralyzing her for life. She will never walk again._

_I laugh at this. I laugh at how both Batman and Gordon have lost a member of their families._

_Smiling, I drop the card. I grab another._

_It is the King of Spades. The picture is that of a man in a tuxedo wearing a red hood on his head._

_There is a burst of knowledge and I am granted a vision._

_The man in the red hood is running from Batman. In an attempt to escape, he leaps over a railing and falls to his death in a chemical bath._

_I laugh at this. I laugh at the foolish suicide of an amateur villain._

_Smiling, I drop the card. I grab another._

_It is the Jack of Clubs. The picture is that of an average policeman._

_There is a burst of knowledge and I am granted a vision._

_I see tens—hundreds of policemen. I watch myself kill them all. I watch them kneel and beg for their lives._

_I laugh at this. I laugh at the deaths that made me smile._

_Smiling, I drop the card. I grab another._

_It is the King of Hearts. The picture is that of Batman, my oldest foe._

_There is a burst of knowledge and I am granted a vision._

_I see the myriad of ways that I have defied him through all the years. I watch as he is chained to a wall and tortured to death every night._

_I laugh at this. I laugh at the torments that I have visited on my ancient enemy._

_Smiling, I drop the card. I grab another._

_It is the Jack of Spades. The picture is that of one of my common grunt workers._

_There is a burst of knowledge and I am granted a vision._

_I see the thousands of minions that I have slaughtered in my boredom. I see their corpses piled high._

_I laugh at this. I laugh at the way that my henchmen fear me._

_Smiling, I drop the card. I grab another._

_It is the Queen of Clubs. The picture is that of a female police officer…is she Gordon's wife? I think so…_

_There is a burst of knowledge and I am granted a vision._

_I see myself killing her brutally. After a few moments, all of the life has left her._

_I laugh at this. I laugh at the way that I have completely destroyed Jim Gordon's family._

_Smiling, I drop the card. I grab another._

_It is the Jack of Diamonds. The picture is that of a baby._

_There is a burst of knowledge and I am granted a vision._

_I see the child convulsing in an incubation chamber. Every few seconds, its body is wracked by another spasm._

_I laugh at this. I laugh at the cruelty of fate._

_Smiling, I drop the card. I grab another._

_It is the Queen of Diamonds. The picture is that of a blonde woman. She is pregnant._

_There is a burst of knowledge and I am granted a vision._

_I see the woman lying on a table in a hospital. She is quite clearly dead and her flesh is burned._

_I laugh nervously at this. It seems familiar…_

_Smiling uncomfortably, I drop the card. I grab another._

_It is the King of Diamonds. The picture is that of a worried-looking man in a suit._

_There is a burst of knowledge and I am granted a vision._

_The man sits in the hospital, next to the woman's body. He is weeping._

_I do not laugh at this._

_I am not smiling. I do not drop the card._

_I am granted another vision._

_I see the same man, talking to two shady-looking men in a bar. They seem to be forcing him to do something. Their point made, they leave. He begins to cry._

_I do not laugh at this._

_I am not smiling. I do not drop the card._

_I am granted another vision._

_The man is standing in front of an audience, attempting to tell a joke. He is nervous, though. I can tell._

_He ruins the punch line._

_The audience does not laugh._

_I do not laugh at this._

_Because I know who he is…who he was._

_A chemist who wanted to be a comedian._

_A loving husband whose wife died._

_Me._

Jack Conrad.

_There is a darkness. There is a void._

_I am floating. Floating in the void. In the darkness._

_The darkness is attempting to devour me…to become me. I can see it, rearing above me. It is cackling and grinning maniacally._

_I know what it is._

The Joker.

_Oh, God. I remember…I remember who I was, but I also remember who I became._

_A monster._

_A fiend._

_Why? Why?_

_April died. She died, and she left me alone. The doctors attempted to save our son, but the electricity had damaged his brain. He was wracked by convulsions for half an hour, then he died._

_My wife is dead._

_My baby was a spastic._

_The Red Hood Gang ignored my protests and forced me to help them rob the chemical factory at which I had worked before…before the madness began. They claimed that it would be easy, a real "in-and-out" job._

_They were wrong._

_Batman showed up._

_I can see myself running from him._

_Suddenly, I am there again. Running. Running from him, but also running from the Joker._

_Why? God, why? The whole world has fallen apart…_

_I leap over the railing to escape. But I had forgotten. I had forgotten about the chemical waste beneath the catwalk._

_Splash._

_The chemicals changed me, deformed me._

_I was no longer Jack Conrad._

_I lost my job._

_I lost my son._

_I lost my wife._

_I lost my _self.

_Oh…oh, God…_

As the man lay weeping on the ground, the merciful darkness swallowed everything.

* * *

We're rapidly drawing to the end. Two more chapters, people. 

Yeah, yeah. So I lied…the Joker wasn't really dead. Deal with it.

Live long and prosper.

Dracheheim


	13. They Know Not How Their Wits To Wear

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the _Batman_ franchise or any related characters. Nor do I own any of the quotes with which the Jester likes to intersperse his speech. I do own the Jester himself as well as the song that appears in this chapter.

* * *

Jack awakened slowly. His senses slowly checked in to inform him about his surroundings: he was somewhere damp and cold, there was an acrid smell in the air, and he was lying in a puddle.

He opened his eyes blearily. As things swam into focus, he noticed the foul-smelling smoke emanating from the ruined computer system. With the mystery of the acrid smell solved, he decided to investigate the puddle; looking down at the discolored liquid, he waited for his brain to tell him what it was. A few neurons fizzled.

"Ugh," he rasped in disgust, clawing his way out of the vomit. The sound of his voice in his ears drew his attention to the pounding headache that filled his world. Holding his temples in his hands, he attempted to make sense of the world. Everything was all _wrong_.

He stumbled over to the computer in search of some explanation. Staring stupidly at the console, he noticed a small, handwritten note on the edge and picked it up. The page was filled with barely legible scrawls of chemical formulas, molarities, and dispersion rates. A spark of recognition arced through his addled mind and he stuffed the note into his right pocket. Something hard and cold was already there, but before he thought to take it out and examine it, he noticed something in the center of the computer's shattered screen.

It was a sharpened piece of metal shaped like a bat. He stared at it. It was oddly familiar.

"Bat…bat…Batman," he muttered. Trying to think through the fog, Jack looked around for the costumed crime fighter. As his eyes swept over the room, he saw the prone figure of the once mighty Batman and he ran over to the vigilante's side.

Batman was not moving at all. His breathing was shallow and his skin was cold to the touch. He would be of no help to Jack.

Jack stood quickly before falling back down. Small lights flashed in his eyes and squirmed across his vision like small worms. He held his head in his hands again and moaned.

He tried to remember what had happened. Why was he in the sewer? Why was Batman so close to death?

A loud spark from the computer made him start. He looked around the room in panic before realizing the source of his terror. Thinking was…difficult. Everything was so hazy. He remembered a man…dressed like a fool. The…Jester? Where was he? Had he left? Had he ever existed?

_Clang_…

Jack heard a faint noise echoing down one of the pipes. Mired in confusion and lacking any purpose, he rose and began shuffling down the pipe towards the source of the noise.

* * *

The Jester winced at the echoes of the falling axe. After a moment, he continued browsing his impromptu armory for a "toy" with which to punish Batman.

"Damned rodent," he muttered to himself. "He could have had it all—could have had everything! He could have stood by my side as I led my crusade." His left eye began to twitch as he spoke. "Yes, he could have stood at the side of a god! But did he choose to? No! He chose to spurn my offer, to insult my cause! He chose to oppose me!" The Prankish Pretender picked up a device that looked like an old-fashioned musket. After considering it for a moment, he took careful aim at a target on the wall and pulled the trigger.

_Fwoosh_.

A small fireball leapt from the barrel of the weapon and engulfed the target in flames. The Jester dropped the weapon in disgust. "No," he sighed, "that's far too impersonal. Not enough fun, really." He turned to face a map of Gotham and raised his arms as if presenting a benediction. "Oh, my city! What glories you shall know! '_Qui si convien lasciare ogne sospetto; ogne viltà convien che qui sia morta._' Dante. I will not fail you, Gotham. You shall be my utopia!" He returned to the weapons rack. "But first," he added, "I have to punish one who would prevent your ascendance."

Shuffling through the weapons, he began to mutter to himself again. "'They who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night.' Lovecraft. Hmm, no, this wouldn't be fun enough. I need something more—hmm. 'The mind of man is capable of anything — because everything is in it, all the past as well as all the future.' Conrad." He giggled as he tossed aside a particularly evil-looking tool. "Of course, the human mind does have its limits. 'It is only the inferior thinker who hastens to explain the singular and the complex by the primitive shortcut of supernaturalism.' Poe." His ruminations were interrupted by the discovery of a large tool with closed metal arms on the front. "Hello," he crooned, lifting the weapon onto his shoulder. "Let's see what you can do." He turned and pointed the weapon at a second target on the wall. His finger lovingly caressed the trigger.

_Sching—kthunk._

The Jester stepped back and lovingly admired the foot-long metal spike that was now protruding from the wall; after a moment, he set his toy down on a table and continued to search for more fun ways to torture Batman. As he searched, he rubbed the wound on his cheek, giggling. He paused and looked at his bloodied hands. After considering them for a moment, he gently extended his tongue and delicately licked the blood off of his fingers. The gleam of metal broke his meditation, and he selected a strange, corkscrew-like device. Giving it a few trial spins, he made his decision and set it down next to the spike gun.

* * *

Jack stumbled awkwardly through the bowels of Gotham. He muttered to himself as he went, trying desperately to reconcile his rediscovered self with his time as the Joker.

"But what is sanity?" he asked himself. "Is it a true state of being, or merely a collective illusion? Maybe I never was sane. Maybe nobody is…" He frowned. "More to the point, if sanity does exist, how did I return to it? Was some chemical imbalance fixed by the poison? Was it the adrenaline rush caused by my proximity to death?" His eyes darkened. "Have I even returned to sanity? Maybe this isn't the end of the nightmare. Perhaps it's a temporary state…the eye of my mental storm. Maybe I haven't returned to sanity at all. Maybe this is just another delusion."

_This is ridiculous_, a voice from the back of his mind interrupted. _You survived what should have been your death. You emerged triumphant over your rival. But what do you do? You stumble around and mope. You are the_Joker._ You should be exuberant—exhilarant! You should be dancing the dance of godly madness!_ In his mind, Jack could feel a darkness rising. It stared into his soul with eyes of hollow evil.

He lunged at the shadows, flailing his arms at the darkness. "I am no him!" he screeched. "I am not that monster! I am a man, a human, not that…thing!" He began to grapple with tendrils of darkness.

As he struggled, the shadows coalesced into a simulacrum of the Joker. Jack dived at it in a tackle with a primal scream.

His vision filled with stars as his chin slammed into the concrete floor of the sewers. Pain exploded in his jaw as he stood shakily. Pulling himself into a defensive stance, he searched the shadows for his doppelganger. The shadows were empty.

"It was all in my head," he muttered softly. He moaned and continued down the pipe, holding his forehead.

* * *

The Jester looked up from his weapons at the faint echo of a scream. "What was that?" he wondered in a brief moment of lucidity. "Is Batman still conscious?" He shook his head briefly. "Ah, it matters not. Even if he is, the toxin will still prevent any movement." The Prankish Pretender returned to the weapon rack. He picked up two pistol handles that were connected by a thick cord. Pulling the triggers, he watched electricity arc from the tips of the weapons for a moment before dropping them to the floor.

"And yet," he continued, "the scream seems…odd. Is there some unexpected hallucinogenic effect to that poison? That was a scream of rage and terror, the scream of a man confronting demons of the mind. It must be some kind of delusion." He grinned. "I wonder…what kind of repressed evils would lead a man to such mental torments? Perhaps I should return to Batman now and take advantage of his clearly weakened mind. I could reduce the mind of that celebrated hero to rubble…yes! And then I could convince him to serve as my right-hand man!" The Jester's eyes began to burn. "And what a servant! Oh, he would be more than just a weapon. He has power as a symbol. The world would have a very different response to my utopia if I had the support of such a famous hero!"

The Jester began to scratch his cheek as his dreams for the future unfolded before his gleaming eyes. The dried blood was beginning to itch.

* * *

Jack wept as he splashed through the tunnels. His mind echoed with the haunting screams and faces of his countless victims. The sound of maniac laughter flowed through the visions, reminding him constantly of who was responsible. "No," he breathed to himself. "No, I can't be him. I can't be…that. I can't be. I can't…" As he wiped the tears from his eyes, he saw a flash of red. Looking at his hands, he realized that they were coated in blood. With a cry, he recoiled in horror.

After a moment, he realized that his hands were clean. It had merely been an illusion, a fabrication of his tortured mind. He buried his head in his hands.

Through the haze of his blurring tears, he caught a glimpse of white fabric. Looking up, he saw a pregnant woman. Her blonde hair cascaded down her back.

"A—April?" Jack stammered. "April? My God, it is you! I—" Jack paused, remember what he had become. "God…April. I…I'm sorry. This isn't me…not the me that you knew. I'm still your Jack…still the man that you loved. Underneath it all…"

The woman shook her head and held her arms open, inviting Jack to embrace her. With a glad sigh, he rushed into her arms.

He fell through her. Sobs wracked his body as he accepted that she was merely another illusion.

"Get up," growled a voice from the shadows. "For God's sake, get up."

Jack raised his head weakly. The cowl…the cape…

"Batman," he muttered. "But…no. I saw you. You were unconscious and near death. You're just another illusion."

"Does it matter?" the specter of the Dark Knight asked. "Get off your ass, laughing boy. Get up and bring Katoves to justice. Do it for me, for April, and for yourself. Do it for everyone. Do it." The specter faded.

Jack pulled himself together. Breathing carefully, he headed down the tunnel with a new purpose in his step.

* * *

"Is this enough?" the Jester asked as he considered his stockpile of weaponry. "I'm not sure what kind of tolerance he has for pain. This might not be enough to break him. Of course, there are emotional components to torture, too. What kind of effect would torture have on a man who buries his emotions from second to second?" His left eye began to spasm as he hummed to himself. He took a deep breath and began to sing.

"You can light a man on fire,  
Stab him with blades most dire,  
Or strap him down before an approaching train...  
You can brand or water-board,  
Tie his limbs with razor cord,  
Or use hundreds of other ways to inflict pain...

Yes, there's nothing quite like too-oo-oorture!  
You can call me a debau-au-aucher,  
If you like! For I'd just loo-oo-oove  
To make his skin into a gloo-oo-oove!  
No, torture's the best, you'll see-ee-ee,  
Once you have experienced it from mee-ee-ee!

Thumb-screws, the rack, or beds for big and small,  
Iron maidens or stocks, I love them all!  
You'll tell me that dirty secret,  
Though you swore you'd never leak it;  
Every tale, yes, you'll spew,  
Once I'm finished torturing you!

No, there's nothing quite like too-oo-oorture!  
Go on, call me a debau-au-aucher,  
If you like! For, in the enn-nn-nnd,  
He'll betray every frienn-nn-nnd!  
Yes, torture's the best, you'll see-ee-ee,  
Once you have experienced it from mee-ee-ee!"

A noise from the doorway made the Prankish Pretender turn. There, in defiance of all expectations, stood a man with chalk-white skin in a purple suit.

"You're…alive?" the Jester asked in shock. "No, you're dead. You have to be dead. I killed you. I led you through that mysterious door into the worlds beyond this one." A wistful look came into his eyes as he continued. "I led you down the path to the portal of Thanatos and he opened it for you, allowing you to continue. You had no more worries, no more cares. You were free. Free…"

Jack's heart began to race. The energy that had brought him this far began to fade. "I have reached my foe," he told himself, "but what happens now? I feel so weak…I'm not in any shape for a fight. I…I feel like I'm going to collapse." He began to feel cold. Shivering, he slipped his hands into his pockets for warmth.

"…the darkness," concluded the Jester. He considered Jack carefully. His wistful expression faded, replaced by a visage of manic rage. "Yet you're here. Like the hydra, you grow back once you have been felled. But I must emerge victorious in order to build my better world." He grabbed the spike gun from the table next to him. Aiming it at Jack's head, he caressed the trigger lovingly. Just as he was about to pull the trigger, he paused. Shaking his head, he placed the weapon back on the table. "No," he chuckled, "that's far too fast. There's no glory in such a kill." He grabbed a wicked-looking blade from the table instead. "And so, I finish this. 'To the last I grapple with thee; from hell's heart I stab at thee; for hate's sake I spit my last breath at thee.' Melville." With that, he charged at Jack with the blade held over his head. In panic, Jack closed his hands and lifted them in front of his face in an instinctive gesture of self-defense.

_Bang_.

After a moment, Jack opened his eyes. The Jester lay on the ground in front of him, dead. A hole through the right side of his head wept blood onto the concrete. In a daze, Jack glanced at his hand. There, held by unknowing fingers, he held the handgun that he had taken so long ago from the security guard at the Gotham Waterworks.

The gun that had been so cold in his pocket.

The gun with which he had killed a man.

Jack recoiled from the gun, dropping it on the floor. He began to panic. "Oh, Christ," he sobbed, "I killed him." He backed away from the corpse slowly, and then turned to run back to Batman. As he ran, the darkness around him laughed.

_You can't deny it_, the shadows taunted. _You're a killer_.

Tears welled up in Jack's eyes as he ran. "I'm sorry, April," he sighed.

In the weapon room, the body of the Jester lay on the ground. His hideous crimes had finally been punished. His glazed eyes stared inwards, into the darkness of his soul.

* * *

Sorry that this one is a few days late. Usually, I try to post things by Friday, but this has been an odd weekend. Hopefully, that won't delay the last chapter.

Live long and prosper.

Dracheheim


	14. Their Manners Are So Apish

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the _Batman_ franchise or any related characters. I own only the remnants of the Jester.

* * *

Heavy footfalls echoed through Arkham Asylum. In some cells, more lucid prisoners shrank back from the figure that strode through their halls.

The Batman was coming.

As he neared his destination, the hero's steps slowed. A slouching security guard straightened up hurriedly. "He's in there," the guard explained helpfully, pointing to the door on his right.

Batman nodded a silent acknowledgement. Though he had already known where to go, dismissing the guard's assistance would only heighten the sense of fear and awe that the man already felt. There was no need for fear any more.

Entering the room, the hero shut the door carefully, examining the room's occupant as he did so. The bone-white inmate looked up and smiled half-heartedly.

"You came," the sitting man whispered. "I-I wasn't sure that you would…" His voice trailed off as his eyes lost their focus.

Batman slowly approached the chair across from the Joker—_No_, he realized, _not the Joker_. This sad, slumping body was not the lithe, grinning maniac that had terrorized Gotham for almost as long as Batman had been defending the city. Something was different. The expression on his face, the way that his hair fell—his entire posture was radically new to the eyes of the Dark Knight. The light in his eyes was dulled. Batman cleared his throat to speak, and the man looked up again.

"Oh," he stammered, "I almost f-forgot. Here." He reached into his pockets and carefully offered the hero a few wrinkled pieces of paper, covered in a shaky but legible scrawl. "It's…the cure. For the venom addiction." Some sort of animation returned to the clouded eyes as he continued. "You see, I found the…Jester's notes on his new venom in the sewer. They were just…sitting there. So I took them with me before I…oh God. Before I…killed him." The figure took a deep, wracked breath, and then continued. "After I brought you back and turned myself in, I got to work reverse-engineering an antidote. It will take some time to manufacture, but…it should work."

Batman carefully put the slips of paper in his utility belt, and then looked directly into the faded green eyes. "Tell me what happened."

"What do you mean?" the chalky figured replied, trying to laugh before lapsing back into his gloom. "Nothing…nothing happened. You saw. You were there."

Batman sat down slowly. "Yes, I was there," he said slowly. "But I didn't see. I was knocked out." His companion opened his mouth to speak, but the hero raised a hand to silence him. "I know that something must have happened to you. You aren't the Joker any more. I don't know what to call you, but I know that you are not 'the Joker' any more."

The man sat in silence, his eyes looking through Batman. Not a muscle twitched on his alabaster frame as he stared into nothingness. After a few minutes, Batman wondered if his presence had been forgotten. He was about to speak, when the inmate broke his silence. "Jack," he whispered. "My…my name is Jack."

"Jack," the crime fighter repeated to himself. "Do you have a last name?"

"No," Jack replied quickly, looking up. Batman noticed tears beginning to collect in the corner of his emerald eyes. "Well, not any more. I did before I became…this thing, but…"

"But you forgot it?"

"No, I remember it perfectly." The eyes misted over once more. "I can even remember the voice of the priest as he declared us Mr. and Mrs. Jack…no!" The eyes shot open, a hint of terror darkening the smaragdine depths. "I…I can't tell you. I know who I was, but I don't want to hurt those who knew me. I don't want them to know what I became. I don't want to taint her memory…"

"Her memory?"

"My wife…April." Jack closed his eyes and sighed, then opened them and focused on Batman. His breathing was careful, regulated, and the hero could tell that he was trying to reign in his emotions. "Down in the sewer, the…Jester guy…he stabbed me with something. Some sort of poison. Enough of it to affect even me, in my…altered state. Affect, yes, but…not kill. God, I wish it had. I wish it had." Jack began to weep, the droplets running down his face looking like rain dripping off of a marble statue. "I…remembered who I was. I came back to myself. Only…I remembered everything that I had done. Everything! I even saw some things that I hadn't done, but I could still tell that I was enjoying them. Oh, yes. That was the most damning part. I enjoyed it all." The tears were falling with a steady _pitter-patter_ against the floor of the holding cell. "And as I saw myself, what kind of monster I had become…I remembered April. God, she would have hated what I was…what I am. And I remembered the last time that I saw her…we fought. We fought! The last time that I saw her before her accident, and we fought! Oh, God, if I could do it all over again…I wouldn't have said what I did. I wouldn't have made the stupid decisions that I did. I wouldn't have taken that job with those thugs…" A huge sob worked its way out of his chest and he buried his head in his hands.

Batman felt a twinge of pity for the poor wretch, disenfranchised even of his mind. Still, there was a question that he had to ask. So much hinged upon the answer. "Are you..." the hero began, "are you cured? I mean, are you sane again?"

Jack tried to stifle his tears, but he did not raise his head from his hands. "We don't know. The workers here aren't sure. I'm not sure. We don't even know what sort of chemicals the Jester gave me to put me in this state…they flushed through my system so quickly, and my blood is already chemically…inventive…as it is. It could be permanent. It could end as soon as I go to sleep." The former clown managed a brief, humorless laugh. "Hell, this might not be sanity that we're looking at. I could just be hallucinating that I'm sane." After a thoughtful pause, he continued. "I think that I am, though. Sane, that is. At least, I hope so. I feel…so much regret. Isn't that the mark of a sane and compassionate man? Regret, guilt for one's actions? I don't know. I just want to undo all that I've done. If this state continues, I won't be doing any killing any time soon…unless my target is myself. There ought to be justice…"

"Death isn't justice," Batman cut in. "Justice is penance or punishment, but never death."

Jack shook his head slowly. "For me? For me, the only penance can be death." He looked up with bloodshot eyes. "I have killed hundreds, thousands of people with my own hands and ruined countless more lives. All those souls are riding me to hell, and they deserve the blood that they cry out for. My only hope is that the thing killing them wasn't me. But what else could it be?" His tears resumed. "What if that thing _is _the real me? A more real me than I was before my acid bath? What if my mind _wasn't_ destroyed, but the pretences that I clung to were washed away, revealing my true personality? What if I _am _a killer? What if _I am a monster_?" He waved weakly at Batman. "You."

"Me?" Batman asked. "I am not a monster."

Jack chuckled, then coughed. "No, not a monster. You aren't that. You are…a hero, one who fights monsters, but…but you _are_ Batman. Whoever you are under that cowl…the real you is Batman. With your identity hidden, you can act as you wish to, act on the impulses that drive you. What if I'm the same way? The chemicals bleached my face and hid me from sight. Am I acting as I truly wish to? Did the freedom of anonymity birth a monster from my flesh?"

"No," Batman replied calmly. "The monster was created by the effects of those chemicals on your brain. People are inherently good…they are just driven off course on occasion." He gestured to the asylum around them. "These people…are anomalies. They are humans who have lost their touch with humanity, but I believe that it can be restored. They can be made good again."

Jack waved his hand to one side, as though batting the hero's argument to the side. "How can you say that? How can you, of all people, claim that people are inherently good? You deal with the lowest kind of scum on a daily basis, but you pretend that all humans are good beneath the grime? No. Maybe, beneath it all, some people are good, but not all. Perhaps everyone is either you or me beneath all of their rules and repression. You or me. Of course, based on the state of Gotham, the balance tends to shift towards…me. Towards evil." He sighed. "Maybe the Jester had the right idea with his perfect society."

Batman stood and grabbed Jack by the shoulders. "Don't say that," the hero commanded. "Don't even think it. By your reasoning, he was going to make _everyone_ like you were…like the Joker. He was going to make a society of monsters."

"If it would be so easy for him to do," Jack shot back, "perhaps that's what the world needs. Freedom. Madness at first, yes, but…eventually…"

"Think of all the deaths," Batman growled. "All of the rapes, the thefts…in the first month alone…"

Jack held up his hands in a gesture of submission. "You're right, you're right," he stated softly. "But, perhaps, if it could be done without awakening only the basest instincts…if the higher impulses could be tapped…"

Batman shook his head. "You wouldn't be dealing with people any more. Only the ideal of people. A whole society of dolls."

"I suppose that you're right," Jack sighed. "It's just been weighing on my mind."

Batman released Jack, and then moved towards the door. After a few steps, he paused. "Why did you save me?" he asked, without turning around.

"I told you about my…epiphany," Jack began. "I saw what you are. A paragon of justice, a true hero. You have kept me…or my Mr. Hyde, as the case may be…from greater atrocities than I managed to commit under your watch." Batman turned and found Jack looking directly into his eyes. "In truth," Jack continued, "you protected, you _saved_ me. Not the Joker, but me, Jack. You kept me in check and, I suppose, I kept you busy and in form. We had a relationship. Perhaps not a close one, nor a healthy one, but we interacted. You _are_ Gotham, Batman. Without you, the city…well, I would be Gotham." He lapsed into silence.

Batman waited, and then cleared his throat. "Well," he began, "are we done here?"

Jack looked up and nodded slowly. Batman walked over and held his hand out. "Well, then…goodbye."

Jack looked at the hand as though he had no idea what to do with it, and then grasped it in a handshake. He pulled Batman to him and the hero was startled by how wide the poor man's eyes had become. "I…just want to say," Jack whispered, "that this…thing…it isn't human. Do you understand? The thing that wears this skin…it isn't human. It has no compassion, no mercy. But it's fascinated by you. It's obsessed with you. It…covets you. It…loves you. But it's evil. It loves you and wants you, but it's evil. Kill it if you must, but don't let it get you. If it gets you, all is lost. Don't think that this human frame makes it human. It has no rules, no morals. If you have to kill me to get rid of it, fine. Do it. But don't let it…don't let it…" Jack released his grip and fell, sobbing, to his knees. "Don't let it…don't let it…go! Leave!" he screeched.

Batman approached Jack in order to help him with his fit, but the man slapped him away.

"Go! Leave! Don't let it…don't let it get you!"

Summoned by the inmate's raving, a nurse entered the room. "I think that it's best that you leave," she instructed Batman firmly. "Now."

Filled with a sense of disquiet, Batman left the room and its sobbing inmate. He was met at the door by Dr. Cavendish. "It won't last long," the doctor sighed.

"What?" Batman asked, his mind still on the screams of Jack.

"His…sanity, if you want to call it that. From what I've been able to tell from the lab work, it's a mild contradiction of his brain patterns, perhaps a less powerful version of the trauma that brought him to madness in the first place. But it won't last."

"Can you replicate the effects?" Batman inquired, hoping for the answer that he knew would not come.

"No," Cavendish replied, seeming to age visibly with the response. "We aren't sure what kind of cocktail the Je—Katoves pumped into him, but we can't experiment with those sorts of chemicals. One misstep, and—"

"You'd kill him?"

"No. Worse. We could make it worse."

"Well, thank you for your work, Doctor," Batman said, calmly detaching himself from the conversation, "but I can't spend all my time here. There is work to be done."

Cavendish watched the hero walk down the halls of Arkham Asylum. "If you ask me," Cavendish snorted to himself, "you could benefit from some time here.

Back in his cell, the body of the Joker lay on the ground. His hideous crimes had finally been punished. His glazed eyes stared inwards, into the darkness of his soul.

* * *

Many apologies for the lateness of this one. Many apologies. Hell, I feel like I should be begging for forgiveness. I wish that I had some sort of credible reason for being this late, but I don't. I just got distracted by a bunch of things, and, for that, I apologize.

I was planning to do a massive re-write on this story, and I still plan to, but I have no idea how soon it will be. I want to fix a few things, such as the anachronism of Harley Quinn's presence and the complete and total lack of realistic motivation. Think of this as a sort of rough draft for the story.

God only knows when I'll get to the task of revising it.

Live long and prosper.

Dracheheim


End file.
